Inevitability
by Cris
Summary: My St. Berry "fix" for the Nationals episode.  Starts at the unscripted kiss and then veers heavily AU.  Smut and fluff warning! *I had so much fun with this, I'm adding more "fixes" and missing scenes, all oneshots.*
1. New York

_A/N: I know it's been done before, but this is my St. Berry "fix" to the Nationals episode. I think I've been original enough, but if this is similar to anything else already up here I apologize. I don't have a lot of time to read fanfiction, and I'm sure I've missed things._

_Content warning: coarse language and sex. You've been warned!_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

><p><strong>Inevitability<strong>

Jesse was speechless.

For the first time in his life, perhaps, Jesse St.-fucking-James had nothing to say. He watched New Directions perform their upbeat second number with a numb heart. What had just happened? One second he was watching with thinly-veiled disgust as Finn Hudson serenaded _his_ girl, and the next that Neanderthal's mouth was on hers.

The audience was shocked and didn't know how to respond, and rightly so, Jesse felt. Schuester had managed to wrest polite applause out of the crowd by standing up and pointedly clapping when the song ended, but the reaction wasn't genuine. The acclaim wasn't from the heart. Jesse had been in front of plenty of crowds before, and he knew enough to know that.

What had they all been thinking? Why had Schuester ignored his firm directive _not_ to allow a duet between Hudson and Rachel? And why, then, had the knuckle-dragging football player felt he had to one-up the competition (meaning Jesse) even more by kissing her onstage in front of everyone?

Jesse had asked whether the kiss was scripted, but in his heart he knew it wasn't. He knew Rachel so well - knew her down to the bone. Every nuance of her body language spoke to him, and he saw what most people in the audience would have missed. She was just as surprised as Jesse. The faint pulse of a single tremor whispered through her black-clad frame when she realized Hudson was about to kiss her on stage, and that tremor spoke volumes to Jesse. She hadn't known. This had been all Finn's idea.

Fucking _hell_. Jesse wanted to tug on his hair, to pace, to punch something - preferably Hudson, but a wall would do nicely. And yet he could do none of that. He had to sit next to Schuester, a show face plastered across his emotions, and watch the end of the performance. Inside, he was dying.

He wasn't stupid. He knew how badly Rachel had pined after Hudson, and the territorial way the football player was now acting around her pissed him the hell off. Yes, Jesse admitted that he'd hurt Rachel in the past. But so had Finn. Neither was blameless in that department. Rachel had freely forgiven him, and he thought they had moved on. But now he wasn't so sure. He knew for a fact that Rachel had not expected the onstage kiss...but had she wanted it? Jesse didn't know, and it was killing him. She'd looked...peaceful, he thought. It was hard to see her expression from his seat in the middle of the theater. But the thought that she might have enjoyed that kiss - might have wanted it - was like a fist in Jesse's gut.

He'd told the truth about flunking out of UCLA...sort of. It was true that he'd been kicked out primarily for not attending classes. But they'd warned him. After two weeks of being a no-show in anything not pertaining to the performing arts, he'd been called in to talk to an assistant dean of students. She'd set him straight and explained that no, in fact, no one would be attending his classes and doing his homework for him. He was a big boy now and he had to play by the rules. College wasn't a game like high school. It was serious.

So Jesse had known early on that his behavior wasn't going to win him any awards. But like the spoiled child he was, he'd continued to slack off. He threw an epic tantrum about having to take core classes like a normal student. Hell, he hadn't actually sat through a math class ever at Carmel. He was always the special one, always getting excused and exempted because of his pretty smile and his charm, not to mention god-given talent.

But at college that just wasn't good enough anymore. Around midterms was when it finally began to sink in. He tried doing homework, but he was so hopelessly far behind that there was no way he'd ever catch up. In frustration, he let himself be dragged to a frat party to try to forget the whole fucking mess. He drank himself into a stupor, and he did, in fact, succeed in forgetting his school troubles for a while. What he hadn't planned on were the dreams.

He'd felt somewhat guilty about the way he'd left Rachel in her school's parking lot ever since it happened, but he tried to explain and excuse away the uncomfortable feeling that churned in his stomach whenever memories of her crossed his mind. She was his equal, his match, his perfect foil. He'd told her the truth in that parking lot - he _had_ loved her, as much as Jesse St. James was capable of love. He'd adored her almost as much as he adored himself. That was the one thing Shelby Corcoran never counted on, the one factor neither of them ever expected. In the end, it hadn't mattered anyway. Rachel had hurt him deeply with her childish "Run Joey Run" video, and in retaliation he'd hardened himself, refusing to feel sorry for her as he carried out the endgame of Shelby's plan. He felt grimly vindicated upon his return to Vocal Adrenaline. Rachel had embarrassed him. She'd _hurt_ him In Jesse's mind, she deserved everything he'd done in return.

But that was before the dreams.

In his alcohol-laced sleep, Jesse had seen her again just as she was the first day he met her in a little music store in Ohio. So sweetly innocent, her dark eyes aflame with nerves and excitement as she realized just who he was. He'd seen her at Sectionals, yes, but not up close. Face to face, she was an entirely different creature. She was pretty in an understated kind of way, a hint of dusky rose to her skin, and full lips that he couldn't keep his eyes off of. And so tiny. Her diminutive height and slim build made her seem younger than her sixteen years, and when she'd opened her mouth to sing Jesse wondered where she _put_ that voice when she wasn't using it. It was too big and too mature; it didn't belong in her little schoolgirl self.

Seeing those eyes and hearing her sing with him once again in his mind, Jesse had felt the first stirrings of real, honest remorse. She'd loved him. She'd given him her trust even when all her friends were telling her not to. She'd risked their displeasure for _him_. And then he'd thrown it back in her face.

The dreams wouldn't leave him alone, either. Alcohol had fueled them, but they refused to stop after that night. Over and over again they came - images of him with Rachel, of her warmth and sweetness, her innocent trust and her brash confidence.

The night he relived the egging incident was the final straw. In the morning, he'd returned to the dean and explained that he couldn't continue like this. He had unfinished business back home, he told the administrator, and he couldn't commit himself fully to his education until he settled this one way or another.

The dean had agreed with his assessment and made Jesse a compassionate offer. His failed classes would remain on his record until such time as he re-took them and passed, but he was given a leave of absence in which to settle his affairs before trying again. His scholarship would still be waiting if he wanted a second chance. But even as he shook her hand, Jesse had grave doubts about ever returning to school in California. School wasn't for him, even an arts degree. He needed to stretch his performance muscles on a real stage, get the chance to see what the world was really like. He'd never really had to stand on his own before, and he didn't know if he could do it.

But most importantly, he had to make things right with Rachel.

As the uptempo second song from New Directions drew toward its finale, Jesse sucked the corner of his lip into his mouth. It was the only outward sign of his inner turmoil. He knew perfectly well who he was. He was a spoiled rich kid with an amazing amount of talent, and he knew nothing - absolutely nothing - about the world. But his years of acting taught him plenty about people, and he knew that something had happened between Rachel and Finn in his absence. She had been honest with him about it when he asked - her relationship with the ridiculously tall boy and how he'd broken things off. Jesse felt he could accept it and move forward. He'd known the moment he saw her again in her school auditorium singing the opening lines to "Rolling in the Deep" that he wasn't going to be able to walk away from her again. He hadn't returned to make amends, he realized as he joined his voice to hers once again in song. He had returned to win her back.

And he thought he'd done so. They'd discussed and apologized to each other until they were blue in the face, practically. She'd gone to prom with him - technically as part of a group, yes, but everyone knew the truth. Later that night they'd nursed each other's wounds, his from Finn and hers from Quinn, and she'd cuddled up close in his lap, so cute in her secondhand prom dress. He thought then that everything would be okay again, and that whatever happened they'd figure it out together.

Now he wasn't so sure. And Jesse St. James hated being unsure of anything, especially something this important. Rachel was his. _His_. Hudson didn't appreciate her the way she deserved. He liked her in spite of herself, not because of it. Her differences were what made her special, and Jesse loved her for all of them. He loved how worked-up she became over things that other people would call no big deal. To Rachel they were huge, and Jesse understood that completely. Her flair for the dramatic complimented his exactly. Their top-ten lists of favorite songs and movies might not match, but they could bicker pleasantly for hours about the relative merits of Minnelli versus Streisand and other similar issues. Finn didn't have the right vocabulary to even begin to do that with her. He rolled his eyes at the way she dressed and tried to hide when she started arguments in glee club practice; Jesse saw that with his own eyes during the short time he'd spent at McKinley last year. But Jesse didn't. He thought her short skirts were cute, and he'd back her in any argument she chose to take up. She was special because of her originality, not in spite of it.

And Jesse didn't know what he'd do if he had to let her go again.

This time, he thought they'd done it right. They'd been honest with each other from the beginning. She forgave him. He forgave her. When she stepped back into his arms for the first time, it felt like...like he was home. Like there wasn't anywhere else he'd rather be. She was too short for Finn anyway, but she nestled just perfectly in the crook of Jesse's arm, like she was born just for that purpose. And when they sang - lord, when they sang! She had to prop up Finn's vocals during a duet, weaving her voice around his and supporting what would have fallen without her. Jesse knew that feeling. But they didn't have to do that with each other. Their voices blended perfectly as they pushed each other to their absolute limits, daring the other to keep up. Sharing a stage with her was heaven.

The applause drew Jesse back to his senses as New Directions took their final bows and left the stage. There was another group on after them, but Schuester was rising from his seat, heading into the lobby, and Jesse followed numbly. The worry was almost crushing him. Rachel didn't even know he was here.

He expected that they would have to wait a while before any members of New Directions emerged from backstage, but he was wrong. Almost immediately after locating the correct hallway, a door burst open and Rachel ran out.

Holy hell, she was crying.

Jesse had seen her cry before, once or twice, but the distress on her face was too much for him. He sped up his steps, eager to reach her, but Schuester had spotted her too and was doing the same.

"Mr. Schuester!" she called, and she shoved herself into her teacher's arms. "I didn't - you didn't tell him to do that, did you? Please - "

Schuester froze, his arms hovering over Rachel's back, and though he was behind them Jesse could see by the tension in the man's shoulders that he was not prepared to comfort a hysterical Rachel. He carefully turned, Rachel held lightly in his grip as if he were afraid to touch her - and with all the lawsuits about inappropriate teachers, Jesse thought he likely was. His eyes met Schuester's and he raised an eyebrow, not knowing what else to do.

"I think...I think there's someone else here who can handle this better than I can, Rachel," her teacher said stiffly. He urged her to turn her head, and her dark eyes went wide when she saw Jesse.

Half a second passed in silence before Rachel pulled away from Schuester. "I..." She swallowed audibly, pale as death below her stage makeup. "Jesse, I didn't..." She shook her head a little, cutting off her words, and another tear tracked its way down her cheek.

"Rachel," he said quietly. Just one word: just her name. Her eyes met his again, and she stepped into his arms.

"I didn't know," she whispered, her arms around his waist clutching him tightly. "I swear I didn't know, and then he was there and I saw it in his eyes." Her breath caught in her chest and she pushed at him as if she wanted to get closer, though that was physically impossible. Jesse held her tightly. This was it: her words now would decide everything. "It was the middle of the performance!" she said, almost wailing with distress. "I couldn't push him away, not with all those people watching! I had to make it look scripted, but..." She hiccuped once, a catch of air in her throat that jerked her body slightly against Jesse's. "I don't think I managed it. I didn't kiss him on purpose, Jesse; you have to believe that."

Instantly all the anxiety lifted. Jesse squeezed her tighter against him, relishing her warmth. She was sweaty from the performance, but he didn't care. Finn had unwittingly given her the ultimate test, and she'd chosen Jesse. He smiled into her damp hair, stroking his fingers through the tousled strands. "It's okay, drama queen," he said, "it's okay. I believe you."

She sighed in relief and he felt her tense body relax in his arms. "All I could think was that I was so glad I made you stay home," she murmured. "I didn't want you to have to see that."

"Are you glad I'm here now?"

He felt her smile against his shirt, the faint pressure of her cheek as it rose with the gesture. "Very."

"Good." Jesse kissed her hair softly.

"You know I only asked you to stay away so I wouldn't be distracted," she said, mumbling into his shoulder.

"I figured if you didn't know I was here, it didn't count."

That got a watery laugh from her, which was what Jesse had been hoping for. He squeezed her tight again for a moment, the warm weight of her firm and steady in his arms, and the feeling melted away any lingering doubts or resentment in his mind about Rachel's allegiances. While he was furious at Finn for imposing as he had, he almost couldn't focus on the anger. He was too happy, too content, with Rachel in his arms. This was what he'd come back to Ohio for - what he'd traveled to New York for - and he refused to let the feeling go. She was perfect, and finally, for sure, he knew she was his.

"You okay, Rachel?" Schuester asked hesitantly, glancing up at Jesse.

"I am now," she said, reluctantly loosening her grip on Jesse and putting a little space between their bodies.

"I'm sorry that happened," Schuester said, and to Jesse's ears he still sounded a little wary. "What made you and Finn decide to go off script?"

"It wasn't me!" Rachel contested hotly, turning to face her teacher. Jesse opened his mouth to support her, but before the words could come Finn slammed out of the dressing room and almost ran directly into them.

Immediately the anger returned full force. Jesse clamped down on it, glad of his years of training as an actor. He needed that control now, needed not to tip his hand and show the full force of his fury. Normally he didn't mind making a scene, but this was supposed to be Rachel's special day, her moment. Finn had ruined that for her. Jesse wasn't about to do the same. Instead he tried to reason with Finn, to make him see that what he'd done was detrimental to the performance. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rachel pale beside him, but he wasn't sure why. Surely she knew how that unprofessional moment would affect the judges? Surely that was why she'd been crying; it had to be.

Hudson started rambling heatedly about that kiss having a cape or some other nonsense shit. Jesse wasn't listening much, more intent on watching Rachel's reaction.

"Right, Rachel?"

_That _got Jesse's attention. He narrowed his eyes slightly at the taller boy, just barely keeping his calmly displeased facade from breaking. Yes, Rachel was in the middle of this simply because they were fighting over her, but that didn't mean he liked Finn forcing the issue. Hudson was still her teammate, and they would have to work together for another full year until Rachel graduated high school. He was secure in his knowledge that Rachel would choose him over Hudson, but he didn't want her forced to spell it out for the Neanderthal. For whatever reason, she liked him. Refusing him again would hurt her, and he never wanted to see her hurt again.

But there was nothing Jesse could do about it, and he knew that. Rachel had made her choice, but Hudson wouldn't let it go. It was up to her to tell him. Jesse couldn't do this for her.

"I'm sorry, Finn," she said, shaking her head a little. "Jesse's right. It was unprofessional." Another tear traced its way down her cheek. Jesse hated seeing her pain, but he forced himself to keep still. This was all her. "I told you last night, and again before we went on today, that we could never be anything."

"Because of him," Hudson said flatly. Jesse wanted to make a snide remark about the fact that he was standing right there, but he squashed it back down.

"Because we're not right for each other," Rachel said. Her voice was thick with tears but firm in its resolve and Jesse took heart in that. "I'm sorry things didn't work out for you and Quinn, but that doesn't mean you can come running back to me and expect me to pretend the last few months never happened. We both hurt each other, and in the end you couldn't forgive me enough to stay with me. You only want me now because you're jealous."

"That's not true!" Hudson's fists clenched at his sides. Jesse knew the feeling. He was above punching this guy in the middle of Nationals, but if Finn wanted to take things outside he'd gladly oblige.

"Yes," Rachel insisted, "it is! You were perfectly happy with Quinn until you heard Jesse was back in town and I was going to prom with him." She paused, and her voice softened. "I want to be your friend, Finn, really I do. I just can't be more than that."

"He'll hurt you again! Just like he did before!"

"Okay, guys," Schuester cut in, "this is really not the most appropriate location for this conversation. Why don't we - "

"Wait," Jesse said finally. He couldn't sit by anymore and just watch this happen. "Hudson, Rachel's made her choice. She's hurt both of us, and both of us have hurt her. But she and I have moved past that, and it sounds like you haven't. I can't prove to you that I'm not out to sabotage you, and frankly, I don't need to. I don't need to prove anything to you."

"Not right now," Schuester said, firmer this time, as the rest of New Directions filed hesitantly out into the lobby. "I'm the chaperone, and I'm ending this argument now. Any more you need to say to each other can be done later at the hotel."

Rachel slipped her hand into Jesse's as they moved further into the lobby. Jesse could feel Hudson's angry eyes behind him, but he didn't turn around. Finn was the past. All that mattered now was the future. He knew without a doubt that Rachel's team had not made the final cut, and he felt sorry for them. He didn't know if they were good enough to win the final prize, but without Finn's sudden kiss they were certainly good enough to make the top ten.

But there was always next year, he reminded himself. Rachel's team had one more year to nail this, and he was adamant that he would do everything he could to make her dream come true.

* * *

><p>Hours later they were back at the hotel. Rachel had cried a little when the inevitable results were announced, but it hadn't been the epic waterfall of tears Jesse half expected. For once, he kept his thoughts to himself. Questioning her lack of tears would only lead to an argument, and he wanted to prevent those tonight. He smiled a little to himself as he watched her compose an email on her laptop. He'd booked a room at the same hotel as all the show choirs, and she was currently sprawled out across his bed in a pair of very short sleep shorts and a tank top. Her red-painted toes flashed in the warm lamplight as she kicked her legs idly and typed.<p>

A knock on the door made Jesse sigh. He wanted Rachel's company and no one else's. She raised her head inquiringly when he didn't immediately jump for the door, and he flashed her a winning smile. "I wasn't expecting company," he said.

"Maybe someone ordered pizza to the wrong room," she said, smiling back. "I'd go for some."

"Somehow," Jesse said, his smile only growing wider, "I doubt that's the case." He couldn't help the grin that was plastered across his face. She was perfect, and she was his. Yes, they had lost Nationals, but he'd won a better prize.

The knock returned, and Jesse stifled an irritated curse. He flung the door open impatiently only to be met by the wide eyes of Schuester. The older man peered into the room, his eyes finding Rachel.

"Hey, Mr. Schue," she said easily before going back to her typing.

"Rachel," Schuester greeted her, his voice carefully neutral. Jesse was instantly on the alert. "Jesse, can I talk to you privately for a minute?"

Jesse checked to make sure he had his room key before following Schuester out into the hallway. He could hear music from a room down the hall and suspected it was a show choir.

"Don't sleep with her."

Jesse managed to keep his face blandly polite, though he did blink in surprise. What was Schuester on about now? "Come again?" he asked carefully.

"You heard me. Not here, not now. I understand that you won your pissing contest with Finn, and that's fine. It's none of my business who Rachel chooses to date. But you can't have sex with her."

Jesse raised an eyebrow. He hadn't actually thought about sleeping with Rachel tonight; not really. She'd turned him down multiple times before, on their first time around, and he had no reason to think she'd be any more willing now. Yes, she'd chosen him over Hudson. That didn't mean she was ready tonight to give herself away completely. But Schuester's conviction made Jesse suspicious. What had motivated this?

"Look, it's nothing personal against you. You're a great performer and you have a lot of experience to give the world, whether you stick with consulting or not. I realize too that Rachel is over the age of consent, but you have to understand the position you're putting me in here. I'm the chaperone. It's my job to make sure the kids behave responsibly on this trip. You're not my student and I have no control over your actions, but I do have control over Rachel's." He paused to let the words sink in. "Don't make me punish her."

Jesse smiled like an angel. It was a tactic that threw many people off when they tried to argue with him. "With all due respect," he said, "how would you know, one way or the other? I could give you my word right now, but you'd never know for sure."

Schuester pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers as if he had a headache. "Jesse," he started, "this whole situation is verging on highly inappropriate. You are a paid consultant working for McKinley High. You're not an employee, but it's close. You're treading a very fine gray line between what is acceptable and what is illegal."

"Because Rachel is a student," Jesse said. It wasn't phrased as a question but the assumption hung heavy in the air.

"Because Rachel is a student," Schuester confirmed. "I'm glad you see the problem. Look, I know this whole competition has been awkward and difficult. I won't make her go back to the girls' room right now because I think she could use some time to de-stress."

"And because you know she'd just sneak out again the minute your back was turned," Jesse said smugly.

"That too."

The two men eyed each other for several long moments. Jesse knew he felt more at ease than Schuester did. He could easily outwait him. But Schuester cracked before Jesse expected.

"Rachel's a very special girl," he said, dropping his voice to be sure it couldn't be heard through the heavy hotel door. "What you did to her last year, you and Shelby both, was despicable. I want you to understand that."

"I do."

"When you hurt a member of our team, you hurt all of us. I realize Vocal Adrenaline never had that kind of connection, but New Directions does. I won't see it happen again, Jesse. Not because of you."

Jesse returned to his bland expression. Part of him understood that Schuester only had Rachel's best interests at heart, but another part of him rebelled at the accusation that he would hurt her again. Never. Not like before. One thing California had taught him was that he couldn't run and hide from his mistakes. Leaving Rachel had been his biggest regret, and she was kind and loving enough to give him a second chance. Schuester was only her teacher. He had no business getting involved in her love life.

"You've made your point," he managed to say calmly. He was well aware of the fact that he'd made no promises to Schuester about Rachel, and he intended to keep it that way if at all possible. He wasn't answerable to her choir director. He was answerable only to Rachel herself.

"I hope I have." Schuester shook his head a little before backing off. "Her plane leaves - "

"I know when it leaves; she gave me a calendar a while back with her schedule written out in minute detail."

"Yeah, that sounds like Rachel." Schuester paused. "I told her last year that she would someday meet a boy who loves her for what she is, faults included. Are you that boy, Jesse?"

Jesse snorted. "She has no faults."

The corner of Schuester's mouth curved up slightly in an amused arc. "I see," he said. "May I offer my congratulations, then? She's been waiting for you for a long time."

Jesse flashed a smile at Schuester as he stepped back into his room, and there was some real warmth to it this time. Maybe Rachel had been waiting for a while, but not nearly as long as he'd been waiting for her.

"Who was that?" Rachel asked as Jesse locked the door behind him. She closed her laptop and pushed herself off of her stomach, sliding from the bed and placing the computer on the desk.

"Mr. Schuester." Jesse held out a hand and Rachel took it without hesitation, stepping easily into his arms when he tugged gently at her fingers.

"Was he looking for me?"

"You know he already knew where you were."

Her cheeks turned pink, which Jesse found too adorable. "We weren't doing anything."

"He knows that, but it doesn't change the fact that you're here with me."

She smiled and tipped her chin up, asking for a kiss. Jesse couldn't refuse her - not when she looked like that. His palms slid along the thin material of her tank top, coming to rest at the sensuous dip of her lower back. Pressing her firmly against him, he lowered his head and kissed her.

She tasted like fruity lip gloss and mint toothpaste, and she was warm and pliable in his arms. Jesse smiled against her mouth as she licked his lower lip, her tongue velvet against his skin. He caught her lip carefully between his teeth, sucking it into his mouth. She made a soft noise he couldn't quite place, and her arms came up to circle his shoulders, one hand lacing its way firmly into the soft hair at the back of his neck. He loved how she responded to him every time he kissed her, almost as if each kiss were their first. She was sweet without being cloying, and the way she felt in his arms was beyond anything Jesse had ever experienced before.

It was ten times better now, he thought as he deepened the kiss. Now that everything between Rachel and Hudson was out in the open. Finn had thrown down the gauntlet and she had chosen Jesse. He couldn't help but feel smug as he settled her more firmly in his arms. Finn was the safer choice for Rachel, and Jesse knew that. But he wasn't the better one. If she stayed with Hudson, she'd always have to be propping him up and supporting him. He would bring her down; she'd never obtain her dreams of stardom. She wouldn't have to do that with Jesse, though. He was her equal in every way Hudson was not. He didn't need her help to obtain his life goals, nor did she need his. They would be each other's support system in many ways, but not like she'd have to be for Finn.

Then all thoughts of Hudson went out the door as she shifted her arms, planting her palms firmly on his shoulders. Jesse knew exactly what that meant, and he was ready for it when she jumped. He dropped his arms from her waist and caught her just at the tender spot where thighs met ass. His hands cupped her firmly, holding her against him as she settled her legs tightly around his hips. He groaned into her kiss, feeling her skin instantly heat beneath his hands. She had absolutely no idea what she did to him, which only made her that much more enticing. Quinn might be more conventionally pretty, but she was too saccharine sweet for Jesse's taste and there was a coldly calculating core to her that he didn't like. He was devious, but he wasn't cruel. Quinn tortured the less-popular simply for the fun of it; Jesse only hurt people when there was something substantial in it for him. They were a world apart, and he hoped Rachel never compared his actions to Quinn's in her head. He was nothing like her.

Pushing thoughts of the bitchy cheerleader out of his head, Jesse squeezed Rachel's ass and threw himself wholeheartedly into the kiss. _This_ was what he'd come back to Ohio for. _This_ was what he'd been missing, what he'd been craving. Not just the physicality, but the raw emotional power that went along with it. If all he wanted was a quick fuck, he could have had that hundreds of times over in California. But that wasn't ultimately what he wanted. That wasn't it at all. He wanted Rachel's sweet scent, her arms holding him close, the taste of her filling his lungs because she was so close that he couldn't tell where one sense began and another ended.

Finally, when his calves were telling him it was time to stop holding up the extra weight, he carefully took the few steps to his hotel bed and laid them across it. Rachel didn't pause as he pressed close upon her, her knees bending and her thighs coming up to hold him close. Jesse was throbbing with need, and he didn't know how much longer he could play this game Rachel so liked - the game of heavy foreplay without guarantee of anything more. It was the sweetest torture, knowing she was his and yet waiting for that final acceptance. He pulled his mouth from hers only to slide his lips along the delicate line of her jaw, nuzzling quickly into the sweet spot behind her earlobe. He licked at the warm velvet skin, feeling her body tense and relax alternately at each new sensation. She was breathing hard, her body hot with exertion and excitement. When he tore himself away from her tempting throat long enough to look at her, it nearly took his breath away. Her eyes were fully open, and she was watching him with an easy, calm expression. They were so dark that he could barely tell the soft brown of her irises from the pupils, and he'd never seen her look quite this way before. She untangled one hand from his hair to lightly touch her fingertips to her lips, dark and swollen from the intensity of their kisses.

"You make me tingle," she whispered, her voice soft in the silent room.

The sweet promise of those words cut through Jesse's pleasure-fogged brain almost instantly. He kissed her lightly again before forcing himself away from her tempting body, sitting up between her legs. She moved with him, coming to rest in his lap, her legs wound around his hips. Her eyes were curious but not anxious.

"I'll make you feel so much more than tingles," Jesse promised, winding his arms around her waist. "But we need to talk about a few things first."

Rachel's face flushed, but she said nothing.

"First, Mr. Schuester came to talk to me about you."

"What did he say?" Rachel's brows furrowed with worry, and Jesse smiled as he traced his thumb across the wrinkle between her eyes, smoothing it over.

"He told me not to sleep with you tonight."

She blushed slightly, dropping her eyes. "He had no right - "

"He had every right, Rach." He smiled at her, tipping her chin up so she would look at him again. "It's okay. I get it."

"_I _don't."

"Don't you?" Jesse raised his hand again, tucking her hair gently behind her ear. He traced the delicate whorls of the shell of her ear with his fingertips, entranced by every inch of her. "He explained it quite succinctly. He's the chaperone and you're in his care while you're away from home. He has a right to ask this of you." He chuckled lightly as she buried her head against his throat, feeling the flaming heat of her face. Not any things embarrassed Rachel Berry, but apparently her choir director dictating her sex life was one of them. "Besides, I promised you epic romance."

"I remember," she said quietly, not raising her head from his shoulder. "But what could possibly be more epic than New York? More epic than Nationals?"

"You didn't win," Jesse reminded her gently, stroking through the sleek waterfall of her dark hair with one hand.

"We came in twelfth. Twelfth in the country isn't so bad when you really think about it. And who knows what might have happened without Finn messing it up?"

"Regrets?"

She shifted in his arms, coming to rest so she could see him clearly, and she chewed absently on her lower lip as she thought about her answer. Jesse let her think. The mood had been effectively broken, and he couldn't say that he completely minded. While Schuester's admonishment meant little to him, he needed to make sure he and Rachel were on the same page before they attempted to move forward with any sort of physical relationship. This was new for the both of them and they needed to understand each other to reduce the risk of any misunderstandings, because Jesse didn't think he could handle losing her again.

"We'll never know what might have happened," she said finally. "I guess in that respect I do regret it. But..."

"But?" Jesse prompted.

"I told Finn before we went on stage that I couldn't be his girlfriend."

"Because of me?"

"Yes," Rachel agreed, "but only partially. He and I are such different people, and I just don't think it would ultimately have worked out even if you weren't in the picture. I spent so much time mooning over him, though, that it was hard to tell if I really wanted him or I was just trailing after him out of habit. It took coming to New York and seeing this place to really show me the truth."

"Which is?"

She leaned back a little to fully meet his eyes, and her gaze was solemn. "I'm moving to New York after high school, Jesse. I'm coming here, and I'm not going back. I don't know yet if I want to attend an arts school like Juilliard or just try my luck with auditions for a little while first, but I do know my future is here, in this city." She was firm in her resolve, and Jesse felt the absolute truth to her conviction. This _was_ the place for her - the only place. She wasn't meant to be stuck in small-town Ohio for the rest of her life, and that's what would happen if she ended up with Hudson. He didn't have the ambition she did. He might get out of Lima, but his dreams weren't big enough for New York.

But Jesse's were. Together, they'd be unstoppable. An inevitability.

"I understand," he said, touching her cheek and smiling. "Believe me, I do."

"I want to be with you, Jesse," she said, turning her face into his fingers. "I just don't know what the future holds for us."

"I don't know, either, but some things are written in the stars. You and I are one of those things."

A flicker of a smile crossed Rachel's face at his arrogant tone. "You're so full of yourself."

"Not without reason." He smirked.

"I'll have to agree with you there." Her smile held, but her teasing tone morphed into something more serious as she continued. "I want to, Jesse. With you."

He didn't have to ask what she was talking about. "That's pretty sudden, babe. You only just told Hudson you weren't going to take him back."

"I know," she said, "and I don't care." She paused. "I haven't slept with him, Jesse."

He hadn't been sure before, but once she said the words he knew she was telling the truth. It made sense, too. No one else knew her the way he did. No one else could touch her the way he could. She might have thought she wanted Finn, but in reality he would never be what she needed.

"Hudson will kill me if he finds out," Jesse said, his cocky smile playing over his mouth.

"Who says he needs to find out?" Rachel pressed a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I don't kiss and tell."

Jesse's smile broadened. "You don't?" That didn't sound at all like Rachel.

"I kept our relationship a secret until you transferred to McKinley, didn't I?"

Jesse had to chuckle. Her innocence about people was too adorable. "No, my little drama queen, you didn't."

Rachel frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

Jesse's laugh grew bigger, and he shook his head fondly at the girl in his arms. "What am I going to do with you?" He bumped his forehead gently against hers, holding her close to him. "I've no doubt you tried, Rach, but you're not a very good liar. I'm positive everyone in your glee club knew about us from the moment you met me."

"I resent that accusation!" she protested, trying to pull away. But Jesse was having none of it. He held her until she stopped wiggling, still smiling.

"Don't throw a tantrum. You are a _marvelous_ actor. But that doesn't make you a good liar."

Rachel stilled, but her frown remained. "That doesn't make any sense."

"You're right, but that's the way it is." He chuckled again, unable to help himself. "Don't mope; it doesn't become you."

She wrinkled her nose at him, but he could see the smile lurking behind the teasing face. "What does become me, then?"

Jesse's grin turned into a broad smile. "The limelight," he said easily. He pushed forward, pressing her onto her back and leaning over her.

"Yeah?" She laughed, her eyes sparkling with happiness as she slid an arm around his waist and pulled him closer. "What else?"

"White sheets," he decided, nipping her lower lip gently before kissing her mouth. "Against your bare skin."

She laughed again as he moved his hands, grasping the bedding and pulling it down in one hard tug. The heavy hotel bedspread and crisp white upper sheet fell from behind her when Jesse yanked, and she bit her lip as his attention returned to her. The calm innocence of her big dark eyes and the intention in that bitten lip made desire heat low in his body, spreading quickly into a slow burn.

"How would you know?" she teased, and Jesse stared at her as she lay quietly against the fitted sheet, the rest of the bedding bunched under her knees.

"Trust me," he said, leaning down to press a slow, heated kiss to her clothed belly button. She shivered under his touch and her hand moved to weave into his hair. "I've seen it in my dreams often enough to know."

"I'll take your word for it," she murmured, pulling his head back up toward hers.

Yes, Jesse thought, she'd have to take his word for it. There was no way she could possibly understand what she did to him; how the sight of her barely-clad body against the sheets of his bed made him feel. For a moment he thought about stopping this, about following Schuester's advice and sending her back to her proper hotel room. But he didn't want to. After so long away from her and everything they'd been through that afternoon, he didn't think he could stand to just get up and watch her leave. Instead, knowing full well what a compromising position they were in, he lowered himself to her and kissed her mouth.

Her reaction was instantaneous, and Jesse suddenly found himself drowning once again in the sensation of it all. She was warm and soft against him, and she made no protest when his hands found the hem of her thin tank top and pulled it up. He moved his mouth from hers, trailing his nose down her throat, bumping his lips over her collarbone. His hands held her waist, his thumbs stroking across her ribs. She shivered with each brush against her soft skin, and Jesse smiled against her body. He moved down the valley between her breasts until he found bare skin. Licking sensuously at the line of her lowest rib, he heard the breathy exhalation of a near-whine from Rachel's throat. It was the sexiest noise he'd ever heard and he repeated the action just so he could hear it again.

She moved her hands slowly up his back, taking his shirt with them, and Jesse ducked out of it at the same time that he pulled her tank top over her head. He already knew from pressing against her that she wasn't wearing a bra, but to see her topless for the first time was breathtaking. Her skin was perfect; flawless cream with an olive undertone that lent a dark rose warmth to her curves. She was leanly muscular from workouts and dance practice, and the soft rise of her small breasts seemed made just for his hands. He drew his knuckles softly down her side, eliciting another shiver from her.

"You're perfect, Rach," he said softly.

She flushed slightly and opened her mouth, hesitating a little. Jesse was instantly alert to her change in mood and he began the difficult process of clamping down on his desire. If she'd decided again that she wasn't ready, he wasn't going to push her.

"It's okay," he told her gently. "It's okay. I get it."

"It's not that," she said quickly. She reached up with one hand and touched his cheek. "Would you...could you..."

"What?" he prompted.

Her cheeks grew redder, and she dropped her eyes. "It's just...it's awfully bright in here."

Tension fled, and Jesse chuckled. "I can do something about that," he said. He turned his head and kissed her fingertips before climbing off the bed. "Hold that thought." Quickly he shut off the overhead light and the bedside lamp, flipped on the bathroom light, and propped open the adjoining door. In the dimly-lit room she looked even more tempting, and Jesse swallowed hard. She was propped up on her elbows, watching him with her big dark eyes, and for the first time it really hit him. They were really going to do this. The look in her eyes took his breath away; she was too tempting by far.

He quickly moved the few paces back to the bed, discarding his jeans as he went, and lay down next to her. She reached out to smooth a hand across his chest, feeling the firm, compact muscle borne of years of dancing. He wasn't built big like Puck, but his strength was undeniable. He gathered her close against him, finding her mouth with his once again. "And here I thought you'd enjoy the spotlight," he murmured between teasing kisses.

She hitched a leg over his hip, bringing her pelvis into contact with his, and Jesse shuddered at the heat between her legs. "Give me some rehearsal time first," she said, rocking her core against him.

He groaned, matching her movements and running a hand down her bare back to grab her ass and hold her harder against him. "Only if it can be dress rehearsal," he managed to say, clenching his teeth against the sensation of being so close to her. "Full costume."

"Sounds reasonable," she said, using her teeth to nip softly down his neck. Her short nails bit into the muscle on his back when he rocked into the heat between her legs again, and her breath caught in her throat. "Best to get used to costumes ahead of time, especially if they're unfamiliar."

Jesse grinned against her mouth and rolled her gently onto her back again, his hands finding the waistband of her sleep shorts and easing them down. He half expected that she wasn't wearing any underwear, and that suspicion was confirmed when the baby blue plaid shorts fell from his hand and he saw his girl fully naked for the first time. Her legs seemed to go on forever, long and sleek and delicately muscled, and they were topped by a small, neat patch of dark curls. He traced his eyes up her abdomen, roaming over her breasts again before finally finding her face. "I don't know how unfamiliar this costume is to you," he said, his body now following the path his eyes had previously taken, "but we're definitely going to have to make it a very, very common one from now on."

Her eyes were bright with laughter as she felt him kiss his way back up her throat. "Who suddenly made you the boss?"

Jesse pressed his mouth to hers, one hand reaching between them to cup a small, firm breast in his hand. She sucked in a deep breath at the first touch of his fingers, and her body tensed and then relaxed into the sensation. He stroked a thumb over the hardened berry-colored nipple, his mouth aching to follow where his hands now were. "Didn't anyone tell you?" he managed to say. "I'm the director."

She snorted lightly, twisting out of his grip and rolling them over so that she was on top. She placed her small hands at the waist of his boxers and tugged. "Oh yeah, St. James? Well, if you're the director, then _I'm_ the producer."

He raised an eyebrow and refused to move his hips so she could draw the material from his body. "The producer, huh?"

"Uh-huh." She nodded, a mischievous smile breaking over her full, swollen lips. "I bring the goods."

Jesse threw his head back and laughed. "You certainly do, love. You certainly do."

The mood became more serious as Jesse allowed her to finally pull his boxers down and his erection sprang free. He breathed a sigh of relief at being free of the restrictive clothing, but he watched Rachel's face carefully as she dropped the fabric to the floor and got her first look at him fully naked. He waited, letting her eyes roam across his body. He remembered well the first time he'd seen a naked woman and thought it must be similar for her now.

"I don't know how to do this," she said quietly, her teasing confidence gone, and she met Jesse's eyes with an anxious expression.

"Together," he said. "That's all you need to know for now." He reached up and pulled her down beside him, rolling onto his side and propping himself up onto one elbow. "Let me love you, Rachel."

She nodded, her eyes fixed on his. Jesse flashed her a reassuring smile as he placed his hand on her stomach. It was fluttering with her breaths, the smooth concavity velvet-soft with just the very slightest hint of peach fuzz. He drew his palm up her ribs slowly, pausing to brush the back of his fingers across the underside of her breast. "Gorgeous," he murmured, before lowering his head and taking a nipple in his mouth.

She let out a low, surprised sound when his lips enveloped the small bud, his tongue laving and flicking across it. Her hands came up, one to weave into his hair and the other to grasp his arm. She did not try to move or maneuver him, simply held him close as he traveled the tantalizing pathways of her body. This was what he'd craved, what he'd dreamed about since their first kiss so many months ago, and now it was finally here. He sucked at her skin, hearing her breath begin to speed up and her body shudder under these new sensations. She used one hand to stroke down his back with the concentration of someone learning Braille, as if memorizing each slope of muscle, each sweep of skin. In their current position she couldn't reach very far, but Jesse wasn't about to move now. He ran a palm down her side, cupping her ass in his hand and settling one leg between hers. He urged her to rock against his thigh and she complied, her breath catching loudly in her throat as he pressed back against her.

"just like that," he urged as his mouth continued its trek across her skin. "Just like that, babe."

Sweat began to prick at his skin, making it easier to slide against her, and a shudder of intense desire shot through him when he felt the first touch of her moisture against his leg. He wanted her - needed her - had to take her _now_. But the rational part of his brain held him back. This was her first time and he couldn't be rough and needy. It had to be perfect, just like she was.

"Jesse..." she breathed, and he felt a rush of male pride at the moan in the back of her voice.

"I'm here with you," he promised, raising his head and sucking her earlobe into his mouth. He scraped his teeth carefully against the flesh before releasing it. "It's just you and me, Rach, and I'm going to make you feel so good."

"You already are," she murmured, and he couldn't hold back the satisfied smirk that crossed his face. "Jesse, that feels..."

"I know." He kissed her deeply again, his tongue licking across the smooth enamel of her teeth before dipping deeper into her mouth. When he finally broke away again they were both panting. Her chest heaved against his, and her eyes were dark and needy when she opened them and looked at him. Watching the emotions flit across her expressive face, Jesse had to ask. "Rach, have you ever touched yourself?"

Instantly her face flamed beet red and her body tensed, stopping its delicious rocking motions. Jesse almost groaned with the loss of that glorious friction but he steeled himself, waiting for her to answer. Slowly, not meeting his eyes, she shook her head.

"Ever had an orgasm?"

She shook her head again, biting her lip, and her body tensed under him. Jesse lowered his head and kissed her, willing the tension away. "It's okay," he soothed, running his hands down her arms and over the achingly soft plane of her stomach. "Rach, it's okay." He kissed her again, stilling his lower body and doing nothing more until her body slowly relaxed against him. Then he shifted slightly, moving his leg away from its spot nestled between hers, and he brought his hand slowly down her body. "I like knowing I'm the lucky bastard who gets to experience that with you," he said, flashing her a smile with only a hint of his usual arrogance. "Hold on for the ride of your life, sweetheart."

Slowly he eased his fingers down toward the promised land, stroking softly through the small patch of curls before pausing. "Open for me, babe," he said softly, pressing against her thigh until she shifted, opening her legs slightly and allowing his hand to dip between them. "Let me do this for you. Just relax and feel."

She closed her eyes, which was fine with him for now, and he returned his attention to what he was doing. His fingers slipped easily between her soft folds, stroking slowly, just letting her get used to the foreign feeling of someone else's touch on this most private part of her body. If he thought she was hot before, it was nothing compared to the slick, liquid heat he found between her legs. She was so smooth, so soft, and he stroked her slowly but thoroughly, letting her experience every sensation to its fullest. She was breathing hard, her head tipped slightly back and her chin raised, her mouth open a little. The rippling tension in her naked body was temptation itself and Jesse had to steel himself not to give in. Not yet. Not until he was sure she was ready.

Pressing further slightly, Jesse moved his fingers, seeking...seeking...

A small yelp escaped her lips, and she jumped. Yes, just there. He smirked a little as he found her clit again and circled his thumb slowly over the small knot of nerves. If she was new to this he had to be gentle - sex was pleasure and pain twined so closely together that it wasn't entirely clear where one began and the other ended. But it was a fine line to walk and could so easily slide into true discomfort, and he really didn't want that to happen. So he kept his motions slow and steady, his touch gentle, as he shifted his hand.

"That's it," he coaxed, continuing to draw tantalizingly slow circles around her clit with his thumb as his fore and middle fingers slipped lower. He found her entrance and rubbed carefully against it before easing just one fingertip inside.

Rachel sucked in a sudden breath, but he soothed the surprise with the gentle ministrations of his thumb and he murmured reassurances in her ear. "It's okay," he whispered. "Just relax. I promise I won't hurt you."

She turned her cheek into his shoulder but did not push him away. Jesse eased his finger slightly deeper, feeling her hot, wet inner walls clench against the foreign invasion. He pulled back and then pressed forward again, easing his fingertip in and out slowly, reaching just a little deeper each time. As he'd suspected, years of dance and other activities had ensured there was no hymen to tear, but her body still wasn't used to this and he knew he had to move slowly. Her inner muscles began to relax around him finally, and he added a second finger.

She moaned a little as he pressed deeper, and he hooked his fingers forward, pressing, seeking the spot inside her that would drive her wild. She gasped suddenly, her body tensing, and he sped up his strokes against her clit slightly. "That's it," he said as her body slowly began rocking against his hand, finding his rhythm and moving with it. "Good, that's it."

"Jesse," she whimpered, and the hand grasping his arm clenched tightly. "Jesse, something's going to..."

"I know." He sped up a little more, working her gently but not letting up the rhythm or the pressure. "Let it happen, Rach. Just let go."

"Jesse!"

"Open your eyes. Open your eyes and look at me."

She did, and it took his breath away. The expression on her face was unbelievable. Excitement and fear drowned in a pool of desire as she rocked against his hand again and then suddenly went still, her entire body tensing and her back arching off the bed. Her mouth opened in a breathy moan, and her eyes clamped shut as ecstasy rolled through her. Jesse continued to stroke as the waves of pleasure took her, her body convulsing with previously unknown sensation. He didn't stop until she pulled slightly away from his hand, whimpering a little.

"Jesse," she said, her eyes opening languidly as she came slowly down from her high. "That was..."

"I know." He smiled and kissed her gently before he moved, kneeling between her legs. "You're exquisite, Rachel. And I think you're ready for the big leagues now."

She nodded her permission, spreading her legs a little wider for him. "Will this hurt?" she asked hesitantly.

"Maybe a little at first," he said, running his mouth across the sleek line of her throat. She was slightly salty from their combined sweat, and the smell of her was too tempting. "Whatever horror stories you've heard are vastly overblown. Besides, you're with me, and I'm good at this."

"Trust you to be an arrogant ass even in bed." She reached up and tangled a hand in his sweaty curls, bringing his mouth to hers.

"It's warranted," he mumbled through the kiss before dropping the teasing act. "It's okay. I won't hurt you, I promise. And if you get too uncomfortable, we can stop."

She nodded, taking a deep breath and clenching her eyes shut.

"Uh-uh," Jesse said, tipping her chin up slightly and kissing her again. "Don't tense, babe. Relax for me. That will make it easier."

He kissed her until she was boneless against him, her body pliable as putty, before he took his erection in his hand and placed it at her entrance.

"Slowly, please," she whispered, and Jesse nodded. Whatever she needed. He was hers to command. Slowly he pushed forward.

She tensed as the tip entered her body; his cock was much bigger than his fingers and the stretching ache was surprising and a little uncomfortable. But as he'd promised, there was no real pain. He pressed deeper into her, working his length inside her little by little, until he was sheathed fully in her warmth. She breathed deeply through the stretching sensation, relaxing her muscles to take him in ever deeper.

"You good?" he asked breathlessly, stilling himself when he was fully inside her.

She nodded, her arms coming up to hold him. His body was tense with the exertion of keeping him up above her as well as holding back when all he really wanted to do was thrust.

"Good," he said, his voice deeper than she'd ever heard it before. "Now we move."

She was a quick learner, her body responding to the rocking motion of his and slowly falling into a steady rhythm. Sweat dripped from Jesse's brow as he thrust deeply, speeding the rhythm up slowly, building the tension and the anticipation. Nothing, he swore, absolutely nothing, would ever feel as good as having Rachel wrapped around him, her body molding to his, accepting as he gave, pressing back when he pushed. They moved together just as easily as they sang. Clearly this was meant to be.

As he felt the familiar, building tension of imminent release, Jesse sped up a little more. He dropped a hand between them, finding her clit and rubbing it in a circular motion. He wanted this to be good for her, wanted to feel her come undone around him.

"Come for me," he urged, his voice grating against her skin as he buried his head in the crook of her neck. He was surrounded by the scent of her hair and skin, by the absolute perfection of her body. "Come for me, Rach."

Her low whimper at his words only sped him faster toward his own release. He tried to slow his strokes slightly, but she was grasping and urging him on, a full partner now in this. With a quiet moan she came, her tight inner walls contracting around him, milking his own orgasm from his body. He couldn't hold back and he came quickly, hearing her soft cries of both pleasure and wonder at this new plethora of sensation. He clenched his eyes tightly closed as he thrust deep inside her and then held still, letting the intense feeling just on the knife's edge of pain wash over him.

Finally spent, he slumped to the side, careful not to land on Rachel with the full weight of his larger body. He rolled, bringing her with him, until he was on his back and she was sprawled across his torso, her legs falling to either side of him. They did nothing but breathe together for several minutes, chests heaving as they worked to replenish their bodies' oxygen levels. Jesse could feel her heart thrumming against his chest, faster and lighter than his own pulse beating heavily in his ears. Even that simple sound took his breath away. She was perfect.

"Rachel?" he asked finally. His voice was weaker than he intended, and he felt himself melting bonelessly into the mattress. Now that he was sated he felt sleep dragging him down, but he didn't want to leave things like this. He needed to know that she was okay.

"So that's what all the fuss is about," she murmured, raising her head. She rested her chin on his chest, watching him with wide, content eyes.

Jesse chuckled, his arms coming up to wrap around her slippery body. "That's just the beginning, babe," he assured her.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You're saying it gets better?"

He couldn't help it. He threw back his head and laughed loudly. "Oh, yes. With me it does." He kissed her bare shoulder, then moved his mouth leisurely toward her ear. She shivered deliciously against him. "Are you saying it met with your approval?"

"Exceeded expectations," she assured him, her blush returning slightly.

Jesse pressed his forehead against hers, weaving one hand through her tousled hair. "Don't be embarrassed. There's no need to be - not with me." He touched his mouth against hers, a whisper of a kiss. "You're breathtaking, and desirable, and you have nothing to be ashamed of."

She only reddened further. "So I was okay?" she asked hesitantly.

"Okay?" Jesse snorted. "You brought the house down, babe. No one could possibly follow you."

Satisfied, she flashed him a brilliant smile and settled back into his arms. Jesse pulled the sheet over their rapidly-cooling bodies, snaking his hand underneath the cover so he could press his palm against her sleek skin. It was the answer she wanted, but it was the complete truth, too. A good fuck had always been thoroughly enjoyable, but nothing compared to the feeling of having Rachel as his partner. After all they'd been through - the fights, the pain, the breakups - it was like the final triumph that made everything else worth it. He'd fought Hudson for this girl, and he'd won. He'd fought his own pigheaded selfishness, too, and while that would always be a struggle, for now his good side had won out. He had Rachel; she was his. Case closed.

"Thank you," Rachel murmured into the quiet room. She shifted, moving half to the side of him, and tucked herself into the curve of his side. Her head settled on his shoulder, his arm snaking around her and holding her firm against him.

"For what?" With his free hand he played with her fingers, twining his around hers. He pressed their hands together, palm to palm. He didn't have huge paws like Hudson, but they still engulfed Rachel's small ones.

"For being gentle, and for being patient. Waiting for me."

"You weren't ready last year," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "It worked out for the best, anyway. How would you have felt if I was your first, and I still did what I did when I left you?"

She shuddered, and he didn't know if it was from her thoughts or the chill in the air. "Would you have?"

"I...don't know," Jesse had to admit. "It certainly would have made the decision harder."

Rachel nodded. He wished he could give her a more reassuring answer, but they'd had enough lies between them. They needed to work on being honest. "My plane leaves at ten tomorrow morning," she said idly. He could hear the languid sound of sleep begin to steal into her voice, and he smiled into her hair. Such a precious thing. He wanted nothing more than to curl up with her, just like this, and keep her with him all night long.

"I already set the alarm on my phone," he assured her. "We'll be ready in the lobby with the rest of New Directions promptly at seven-thirty."

"Yeah?" He felt her smile against his shoulder.

"Of course. You gave me a calendar, remember?"

"I didn't know if you'd actually look at it. I tried giving Finn one, once, and it didn't go over well."

Jesse snorted. "I'm not surprised. But people like us need to keep organized. How else do you know what you need to accomplish every day?"

She smiled again, and Jesse knew why. They were perfect for each other. He held her close for a while, relaxed but not asleep, listening to the sounds of New York below them. If Rachel belonged in this city, he'd follow her. He knew that now. Alone, he could be just as happy in Los Angeles. Alone, UCLA might still be a viable option. But Rachel wanted New York, and he wanted Rachel, which only left him one real choice. Not that it was a sacrifice at all. This was a city of dreamers, a city where people like him could come and fight their way to the top if they were good enough. If they had what it takes.

Jesse knew he had it, and so did she. They would be unstoppable. Maybe the life of a stage actor wasn't as shiny as that of a movie star, but it didn't really matter. Nothing compared to a live audience and a live performance, the thrilling anxiety of knowing that one misstep could throw an entire show. Cameras were forgiving. Cameras gave you breaks, let you set take after take. On the stage you only had one chance to win over an audience. The rushing intensity of that kind of life was an even bigger draw than fame.

"Jesse?"

He started a little when he heard Rachel's soft voice. He'd thought she was asleep. "I'm here, Rach."

"I have something to confess."

Her voice wasn't too troubled, so Jesse tried not to panic. It wasn't easy, though, when the girl of his dreams was admitting she had a confession to make. "What is it?" he asked cautiously.

"It...wasn't just Finn's fault that we lost Nationals."

Jesse clenched his teeth. He knew she was still friends and teammates with Hudson, but that didn't mean he wanted to hear the guy's name when they were naked together in bed. "How so?" he asked, trying to keep calm.

Rachel took a deep breath; he felt the brush of her belly as she exhaled slowly. "Before Vocal Adrenaline went on," she said quietly, "I ran across their new lead singer in the girls' bathroom."

_That_ wasn't what Jesse had expected her to say. He tightened his arm around her but remained quiet.

"We've...had words before," Rachel continued, her words falling softly into the dark room. "Not very pleasant ones, either. She was so nervous when I found her. She was planning to go to the Philippine embassy to get her visa revoked. Said it was the only way she'd be able to get out of singing."

Jesse frowned. "I didn't arrive in time to see Vocal Adrenaline perform, but their name was on the finalist sheet. Obviously she didn't end up running off."

"No, she didn't," Rachel agreed. "I kind of...talked her out of it."

The way her voice rose at the end of the sentence told Jesse everything he needed to know. She thought he'd be mad or disappointed in her. Instead, he laughed. "You ridiculous girl," he said fondly, hugging her tightly against his side. "You're a hybrid, you know."

"A hybrid? Of what?"

"Of Vocal Adrenaline and New Directions." Jesse dropped a kiss in her hair before tipping her chin up so he could reach her mouth. "You have the drive to win that Shelby did, that she infused into the rest of us. But it's tempered in you; it isn't as hard or as ruthless. You have the heart of New Directions always pulling you the other way, toward compassion."

"I couldn't have forgiven you if I didn't," Rachel said. "But...I guess I understand why you did what you did."

"And you understand my actions, no matter how wrong they were, because of that spark of Shelby in you." He smiled as he gazed at her, her features softened by the dim light spilling through the bathroom door.

"If I hadn't encouraged her, we might have still had a shot at the top ten," Rachel said quietly.

"You'll never know for sure," Jesse agreed. "Best not to dwell." He ran his hand along the impossibly soft skin of her back. "It will be difficult, Rach, balancing the two extremes within you. I won't lie to you about that."

"That's what I'm afraid of." She flashed him an ironic smile before dropping her head back to his shoulder, snuggling close once again. "Sometimes I think it would be so much easier if I could compartmentalize like Vocal Adrenaline and shut off my emotions around the performance."

"Don't you dare," Jesse said. "Your emotion is what gives you an edge. Your voice is amazing, Rachel, but it's the feeling behind it that makes you shine."

"I'll keep that in mind." She yawned and stretched, settling more comfortably against him. "Can we go to sleep now?"

Jesse smiled. "As long as you don't expect me to let you go."

"Noted." She set her mouth against his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his cool skin before curling her body around his once more. "'Night, Jesse."

"Sweet dreams." He rubbed her arm lightly, relaxing fully as he followed her down into sleep.

* * *

><p>Fuck. Fuck, fuck, <em>fuck<em>! Jesse shot up straight in his hotel bed, instantly awake. "Fuck!" he swore out loud. How could he possibly have been so stupid?

Rachel was curled up next to him on the wide mattress, tucked into a little ball as she slept. She opened a sleepy eye and regarded him calmly as he proceeded to freak the hell out. Last night they'd had sex. Unprotected sex, in fact. For the first time in his life, he'd been too caught up in the moment to prepare properly. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind until just now.

"You - " Jesse stuttered. "We - "

Rachel yawned and stretched slowly. He could see the sensuous movement of her body under the blankets as she readjusted and curled up again. "If it's before six a.m., I'm kicking your ass, St. James."

"Rachel, this is serious!" he snapped. "We didn't use - "

"Relax, Jesse, I'm on the pill."

He froze. This news was both unexpected and very, very welcome. "You are?"

"Since I was fifteen. My dads adore me, but they told me point-blank that they didn't want any mini-Rachels running around until I was at least twenty-five. Preferably thirty." She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up cautiously, her head turning as she sought the alarm clock. "You might have been caught off-guard last night, but I wasn't." She smiled as she reached up to touch his cheek. "I knew what I wanted."

"Yeah?" Jesse relaxed as he slid back to the pillow, willing his heart to return to its normal rhythm. That had been a bad scare, and relief fluttered through him though it didn't erase the adrenaline now pumping through his system. He was definitely awake for the day. He reached for Rachel, and she came willingly into his arms. She turned her back to him, letting him spoon around her, and Jesse smiled into her hair. She was warm and soft with sleep, her movements liquid and slow as she pressed back into his chest. "I've known I wanted you since the first time I saw you, at Sectionals." His smile turned into a teasing smirk. "I'd like you in just about anything, but christ, Rach, you can seriously rock a little black dress."

She laughed, which was the result he'd been hoping for, but then she cringed.

"Rach?" He raised himself up, concern replacing his previous calm. "Rachel, what's wrong?"

She groaned a little, moving her body slowly. "I thought I was in shape," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"You are." He thought he knew what she was getting at, and he relaxed a little bit. Some soreness after sex was inevitable, especially since it was her first time.

"Then tell me why I ache!" she snapped irritably, pulling out of his arms and sitting up with a small wince.

Jesse chuckled. "Football won't condition anyone for ballet. Why do you think sex is any different?"

She threw a pillow at him before stalking to the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a sound just shy of a slam. Jesse collapsed back on the bed, a bright, foolish smile adorning his face. She was a high-maintenance, hot-tempered drama queen, and she was all his.

* * *

><p>Later, at the airport, Rachel squeezed his hand and bit her lip at the same time. "I don't want to go," she admitted, staring out the big windows at the tarmac.<p>

"New York will still be here in a year, waiting for you," Jesse soothed her, squeezing back.

Rachel shook her head slightly and turned to meet his eyes. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what?" Jesse thought he had an idea, but he wanted to hear her say it.

"I don't want to leave you," she admitted, which was exactly what he hoped she'd say. "I hate this!"

Oh, yes, Jesse thought, and he had to fight to keep the smile from his face. She was pouting because they were on separate flights back to Ohio. "Just think of it as time to re-connect with the rest of your team."

Rachel glanced at the other members of New Directions scattered throughout the terminal. "I'm not sure we'll be doing much connecting on this flight."

Jesse had to agree with that assessment. Nobody seemed to know how to handle their recent loss. Santana was still furious at both Rachel and Finn, and Quinn seemed only slightly more subdued. Nobody else seemed to want to lay blame outright, but it was clear how they all felt. Everyone looked a little shellshocked, even Schuester, and they were all quietly keeping to themselves as they nursed their wounded pride.

"They think I did this," Rachel said quietly. "Me and Finn. It almost makes me want to tell them what happened in the bathroom with Sunshine. At least then they'd have a reason to be mad at me."

"Don't tell them," Jesse advised. "It won't change anything. And they blame you because you're their leader. Have you ever heard the expression 'the captain always goes down with the ship'?"

Rachel nodded.

"They need someone to blame right now, because this loss is a big one and they're hurting. Not that I have personal experience," he added, flashing her his trademark cocky grin. "But I do know that if Vocal Adrenaline had ever lost while I was at the helm, they would have torn me apart. It's part of the mentality of the group, and part of the burden of being a leader. Yes, you get to make the decisions, but you also get the blame as well as the accolades, no matter which is deserved."

"So you're saying that because I'm the leader, as a co-captain, I need to step up and embrace the responsibility even if it isn't fair."

"I always knew you were smart."

"Thanks." Rachel flashed him a smile

Jesse exhaled slowly, steeling himself. "Rachel, there's something we need to talk about."

"What is it?" She looked at him cautiously, and Jesse hastened to reassure her. He couldn't possibly leave her again, and he hoped she wasn't afraid he might.

"Rachel, it's a moot point this year because school is almost out, but I wanted you to know that I can't be a consultant to your school anymore."

"I know."

Her calm admission surprised him, and Jesse raised an eyebrow. "You know?"

"Of course I do. Look, these past few weeks have been hard enough and we weren't even technically together. Now that we are, you have a clear conflict of interest. I get it." Her gaze softened, and she raised a hand to touch his cheek. "I'm just glad you chose me over consulting."

"There are plenty of show choirs out there, but only one of you," he said, turning his head to kiss her fingertips. "It wasn't even a choice."

"Think you can whip the Warblers or Jane Adams girls into shape next year?"

Jesse made a face. "The Warblers don't need any help, and the Jane Adams girls would eat me alive." He mock-shuddered, earning a giggle that danced through his blood like music. "I'll find something to keep me occupied for next year," he promised. "No worries."

"And after that?" she asked hesitantly, and he saw her nibbling on her lip again. Her nervousness was too cute.

"I thought that was settled," he teased. "We're coming back to New York."

The 'we' warmed his insides just as much as Rachel warmed his outsides as she squeezed him tightly in a giddy hug. He was so used to being on his own, making decisions that only impacted him, and it was a heady new experience to now include someone else in those plans. Especially since it was Rachel. She was his equal, his match, his everything. And while he knew love would always battle with the stage for priority in their lives, they'd be okay. He was sure of it. They understood each other too well for this not to work out.

When New Directions' flight was called, Jesse rose and pulled Rachel into his arms. He was really only leaving several hours later, but he felt the separation as much as she did. They both had a flair for melodrama and they clung tightly to the opportunity to use it.

"It's just a few hours," he reassured her as she leaned up to brush a final kiss against his mouth. "Just a few hours, and I'll be back with you in Ohio." He paused. "And then, in one short year, we'll be back." His eyes twinkled at her. "Maybe we can do some apartment hunting after you win your national title."

Rachel's eyes were bright with tears but her smile was brilliant as she nodded her agreement.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Now that's a more appropriate chapter length! I think I'm getting back into the swing of things! Tell me what you think, even if it's that I should never attempt to write smut again. ;-) Mwah!_


	2. Sectionals

_A/N: Hi, duckies! I had so much fun writing Inevitability that I had to come back for more! So many ideas pop into my head when I re-watch my Season 1 DVDs, and so I think I'll do some more St. Berry "fixes" and missing scenes. Some will be more AU (like the first chapter) and others will be more canon._

_This one is fairly tame, no smut (sorry - I tried, but it just didn't work!). It's Jesse's take on McKinley's Sectionals from Season 1, and then veers into an AU first meeting between Jesse and Rachel. I've placed a note between the two sections for people wildly attached to the music store meeting._

_All standard disclaimers apply. Oh, and thank you to everyone who raised concerns about the first chapter of this story being plagiarized - I got a lot of PM's and emails, and your concern warms my lil heart! I've told the author in question what I think, and I have requested that she make changes, but have not asked her to remove her story. The story was not lifted whole, it was lines here and there, and we all make mistakes._

* * *

><p><strong>Sectionals<strong>

"Why are we here again?" Jesse St. James widened his eyes at his mentor and show choir coach, Shelby Corcoran, giving her his best plaintive, pleading stare. He was an attractive guy, and he knew it. Usually all he had to do was lift one corner of his pretty mouth in the suggestion of a smile and people - both men and women - bent over backward to please him. He was no fool, and he used his baby-faced looks to his advantage.

But it never worked on Shelby. She was the hard-assed parental figure his own mother would never be, and she didn't fall for any of his tricks. Never had. She simply stared back at him blandly, her sharp features giving nothing away, and then went on with whatever she'd been doing.

This time was no different. She rolled her dark eyes in his direction for a moment before turning back to the program in her hand. She didn't even acknowledge the puppy-dog stare aimed her way. If Shelby wasn't fully immune to his charms when she met him, after three and a half years of working together she was now.

Jesse slouched in his seat, admitting defeat. Cute looks got him nowhere with Shelby, and she didn't put up with moodiness either. He glanced back over at her, studying her out of the corner of his eye.

Shelby Corcoran was his mother, for all intents and purposes, and while Jesse pulled the usual tricks of a teenage rebel, she always knew how to haul him back in line. She could do very little wrong in his eyes, and that pull she had over him spoke volumes. Jesse St. James did not respond well to authority. Only his deep respect for Shelby's talent and experience kept him docile and subservient to her. Idly he wondered, as he watched her study the musical program with all the attention of a race junkie at the betting books, whether it was possible to be infatuated with someone with absolutely no sexual undertone whatsoever. If such a thing were possible, he suspected that was his relationship with Shelby. He adored her. Idolized her. Hung on every word that fell from her lips. She embodied the traits Jesse admired most in others and cultivated assiduously in himself. Not only was she insanely talented, but she knew exactly how best to use her talents to get what she wanted. She was highly intelligent, somewhat aloof and standoffish, and she drew people to her with an unexplainable magnetism that Jesse also shared.

Her draw was even more inexplicable to Jesse because Shelby wasn't conventionally beautiful. Well, he corrected himself, stealing another glance at his mentor, that wasn't quite true. She was athletically-built, slim and firm, and her long, dark hair was the envy of women half her age. But life and shrewdness had lain taut lines across her face, and she often wore a slightly calculating look that made people hesitate even as her vitality and confidence drew them closer. She was a tricky creature; Jesse could completely see Shelby playing villainous role after villainous role, were she still trying her luck on the stage.

And yet, she was not herself a villain. Jesse could attest to that. He played with the corner of his own program as he waited for the curtain to rise and the show to start. Shelby had always, _always_ been there for him, in ways his parents never were. When he'd first met her, he was just a mop-topped high school freshman with an amazing amount of talent and no aim. No goal. Back then, he'd assumed that life would hand him whatever it was he needed. His parents were rich, though distant. His cute smile and baby blue eyes continually kept him out of trouble. He wasn't particularly smart and didn't know how to apply himself to anything. He'd auditioned for his school's show choir on a whim, figuring that it might be a good way to meet girls. He knew he had a good voice; his parents had indulged him in music lessons since he was little. But he'd never really had to try before.

Until he met Shelby.

Shelby had awoken his fierce competitive instincts by not fawning over him. She'd listened blandly to his audition, then proceeded to calmly inform him of every single flaw in his performance. That whole first year she'd made him battle, fighting and clawing his way into the top spot, the lead performer of Vocal Adrenaline. She never accepted less than his best - never accepted his best, either, if he was honest about it. She pushed him further, made him want it _more_. Jesse was no idiot. He knew perfectly well that it was because of Shelby Corcoran that he was who he was today.

And just as his pretty face hadn't fazed her when he was a freshman, it didn't faze her now. She glanced over at him, and the tight lines of her face did not soften as she regarded her protege calmly. "You can leave, Jesse," she said. "No one's forcing you to be here."

He steeled himself to say nothing. This was quintessential Shelby. Of course she was forcing him to be here, but neither would admit it to the other. If he chose to leave, she'd punish him by demoting him to second place in Vocal Adrenaline, and Jesse refused to let that happen. She could steal all his free time and he'd never complain. Just as long as she didn't take the spotlight away. Now that he'd had a taste of fame and notoriety, he wasn't about to lose it.

"This is reconnaissance," Shelby reminded him. "If you expect to help me plan our Regional and National routines this year, you have to know what you're up against. We won our Sectionals last week without even trying, but it's important to know your competition."

Jesse raised an eyebrow, a trick he'd learned from Shelby herself. "I have a hard time thinking of any of these schools as competition."

A flicker of amusement crossed Shelby's face but was gone quickly. "Noted," she said, which was the closest she would ever come to agreeing with him. "And if this were a straight-up talent competition, I would concur. But it isn't."

Jesse remained silent. She would elaborate whether he asked her to or not, and while he hung on her every word he didn't like her knowing just how highly he thought of her. Shelby Corcoran had enough ego already. She didn't need to know that Jesse felt she hung the moon.

"Look at your program," Shelby instructed.

Jesse opened the simple paper booklet.

"Two of these schools cater to disadvantaged kids. Do you have any idea how much that will affect the judging if they advance to Regionals? Everyone loves an underdog."

The teenage boy in Jesse couldn't help but argue, though he understood exactly what Shelby was trying to tell him. "We saw the Jane Addams girls perform last year. They didn't even make it through their Invitational; they were disqualified for inappropriate dance moves."

"And I'm positive their coach has learned from her mistakes and won't repeat them this year." Shelby pulled a pencil from behind her ear and made some small notes in the margin of her program. The lighting in the theater was dim and Jesse couldn't read her scrawl. "Last year the issue was content, not talent. I think it's worth seeing what they've prepared this year."

"Okay," Jesse allowed, giving in. "But what about the other two? Jane Addams is going first. Couldn't we watch them and then leave?"

"No." Shelby's response was firm. It was her no-nonsense directing voice and not her teaching one.

"We're going to stay and listen to a deaf choir? Really?" Jesse forced a skeptical note into his tone. In truth, he was willing to do just about anything Shelby said. He trusted her judgment. But that didn't mean he was willing to stop pestering her. Trying to get a rise out of his choir director was just too much fun.

"I know what you're doing, kid, and it's not going to work," Shelby said flatly. She turned her head and gave him a little flash of a smile. "Keep it up and you'll have an essay to write."

"You'd give me a punishment essay?" Jesse doubted she was serious.

"No," she said, and the satisfied smile returned to her face. "I'd simply toss back to you some of the homework others currently do for you."

Jesse stared at his coach. Was she serious? He hadn't written an English paper since sophomore year. Vocal Adrenaline paid some other kid to do all his homework for him.

Shelby chuckled, and Jesse quickly schooled his expression. He didn't want her to know that he'd almost bought into her idle threat. "Look, Jesse, I know you don't see these schools as valid competition, and I understand. Believe me, I do. But there's always the chance of a fluke, and we can't let our guard down."

"Deaf choir fluke, check," Jesse said, slouching again. "But do we really have to stay for the third act? McKinley hasn't won anything since the mid '90s."

"They have a new director this year." Shelby checked the program. "A Mr. Will Schuester."

"What happened to the bald gay guy? Did he get sacked after last year's 'Oliver'/'Oliver & Company' debacle?"

Shelby snorted, and he could only assume she was remembering the terrible splicing job of traditional show tunes with Disney-tainted Billy Joel. "One can only hope."

Jesse raised an eyebrow. "Don't you know? You always have the best gossip about the other teams. Who's your spy at McKinley?"

"I don't actually have one," Shelby admitted. "Never really thought it was necessary."

"So you really don't know what happened to their old director?"

Shelby shook her head as the lights flashed, signaling everyone to take their seats. "I really don't," she said, and Jesse believed her. She wouldn't lie. Not to his face, anyway. "Pay attention now," she reminded him. "I want to hear your in-depth analysis after each performance."

As the announcer took the stage, Jesse slunk further down into his chair. Years of practice in school had perfected his ability to tune people out, and now he ignored all of the announcements and instead studied his program. There were the obligatory thank-yous and sponsor ads, and each team had been allotted a single page. Where Vocal Adrenaline's flashy professional photographs all included Jesse at the forefront and the rest of his team in the background, these schools had chosen simple group shots. The Jane Addams girls looked the same as last year - indifferent expressions and way, way too much makeup. There wasn't an individual in the lot, just a sea of variously-tinted faces all staring at the camera as if sizing it up in preparation for a fight. In his head, Jesse sneered a little. Anger was a great motivator, but it would never get these girls out of Ohio. It wasn't enough, and from the looks of things, it was all they had.

His opinion didn't change as the curtain rose and the reform-school girls trotted out in unflattering black spandex and baggy gold jackets. Jesse covered his mouth surreptitiously with his hand to hide his disbelieving sneer. Were these girls serious? Were they _trying_ to rub everyone's noses in the fact that they were disadvantaged youth? He risked a skeptical glance at Shelby, who merely shrugged as if to say _I told you so_. Yes, she certainly had. Jesse's mouth twisted into a frown as he heard the opening notes to "And I'm Telling You" from Dreamgirls. Sure, a fair number of the girls on stage were ethnic minorities, but did they have to choose something so...so stereotypical? If Shelby had been in charge - hell, if _Jesse_ had been in charge - they would have brought something completely different to the table. Possibly some real show tunes. Something to show that the girls weren't just one-note simpletons, that they had range and they could step outside of the boxes everyone put them in. They'd be polished to the nines if Shelby was in charge - none of these hip-hop jackets and that ridiculous-looking bling.

Their lead performer was okay, Jesse was willing to admit. She didn't have the emotion she needed to really bring this song to life, but she was at least hitting the right notes and keeping up with the musicians reasonably well. That was more than he'd expected on first glance.

"Well?" Shelby murmured, leaning toward Jesse. She wore Charlie perfume every day of her life, and to Jesse it was the smell of professionalism. He breathed it in now as he considered how to answer.

"She's turned it into a protest song," he finally replied. "It's all anger and bitterness. That's part of what the song's about, but she doesn't understand the love or devotion behind it. It's a weak, one-dimensional rendition of a song that's been so over-used in the last few years that anyone with any sense should just stay the hell away from it."

Shelby looked pleased. "So you don't think high school show choirs should be attempting songs as iconic as this?"

Jesse could hear the teacher in her pressing forward, and he considered his answer carefully. Shelby's questions were always double-edged; they held traps that were so easy to fall into. "For most?" he finally said. "No. They should stick with stuff that's pleasantly nostalgic but that the judges are unlikely to have intense opinions about."

Shelby did not ask anything more, and Jesse hoped that meant he'd answered reasonably well. It wasn't always clear what his mentor thought or felt about things. Praise from her was always backhanded or two-sided; you had to dig through the criticism to find it. The fact that she said nothing spoke volumes.

Jane Addams shifted quickly into a lackluster hairography number, then closed with a rendition of "Proud Mary" in which they all wobbled around the stage in wheelchairs. _Wheelchairs_. Jesse tried to hide a shudder but ultimately couldn't. None of the girls up there needed a wheelchair. They had already slapped the audience and the judges in the face with their status as "disadvantaged youth," so why in the world had they felt the need to push it that extra bit further? Why put these girls - who could barely dance even with the use of their legs - in wheelchairs? It made no sense.

Jesse understood the advantage of props to choreography, he really did. He himself dreamed of a time when he could express his yearning to do a roller-skate number a la Andrew Lloyd Webber's _Starlight Express_. But wheelchairs were just depressing, and the Jane Addams girls weren't even using them well. Now, if they'd had some murderball pros teach them a thing or two, maybe that would be something. But as it stood, they were just making everyone in the audience intensely uncomfortable.

Intermission was called after polite applause, and Jesse rushed out of his seat to make it to the bathroom before the line got too long. The men's room line was nothing like the women's, especially at an event like this where women outnumbered men three to one. But intermission still meant a crowded bathroom, and nobody liked to piss with a stranger breathing down his neck.

After washing his hands thoroughly - receiving some exasperated sighs from people waiting for a sink - Jesse pushed his way into the lobby. He glanced around, looking for familiar faces, and saw very few. Most of the audience was connected to today's performers somehow - friends or family members. Very few other teams took the initiative to scope out the competition.

That was why Shelby and her team were consistently at the top.

A short redheaded woman brushed quickly by Jesse, her cell phone pressed to her ear. He couldn't make out her words, but she seemed upset about something. Jesse shrugged internally as he bought a bottle of water at the snack stand and went to find Shelby. It really was none of his business.

They settled back into their seats just as the lights flickered in preparation for the second school. Jesse shot Shelby a doleful look. Did she _really_ expect him to sit through a performance by a deaf choir? Seriously?

His misgivings were only confirmed as the opening notes of Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" bled through the sound system. Now that was a reasonable choice of music, exactly what he'd have selected for a mediocre school with mediocre ambitions. It was an accessible song, one the judges were sure to know and think of fondly.

But a good musical choice didn't mean a thing once the Haverhurst kids opened their mouths.

Jesse tried to be nice. He really did. He knew they couldn't hear themselves; that the awful noise radiating through the theater wasn't really their fault. But _honestly_. Show choir was about singing. At the end of the day, choirs needed to be able to sing, and these kids couldn't. He shot a pleading glance at Shelby, begging her with his eyes to release him back into the lobby. She lifted one shoulder slightly in a shrug, and that was all the permission Jesse needed. He bolted, rising from his seat and finding the aisle.

He wasn't the only one whose ears were too upset to sit politely through the performance. Several other people were rising, too, walking with their shoulders hunched as they tried to make themselves physically smaller, as if they could disappear. It was the universal habit of people trying not to disturb other members of an audience.

But as Jesse passed the middle of the theater, one girl rose to her full height. She was on the other side of the row and he couldn't see her clearly, but he didn't need to. Disdain and firm resolve dripped from every inch of her diminutive height, and she didn't bother trying to hide any of it. She said something Jesse couldn't hear, then whirled with furious intention and executed a picture-perfect stormout. He grinned as he strode to the lobby, breathing a sigh of relief when the doors closed behind him and most of that horrendous noise died. He didn't know if it was the terrible singing that had prompted the girl's ire, but if so he fully concurred. And that stormout really had been spot-on. Jesse felt his grin broaden. He could hardly have done better himself.

Shelby found him during the second intermission, and though Jesse knew she wasn't terribly pleased at his abrupt departure, she understood.

"No deaf choir fluke?" Jesse drawled. His ears were still ringing from that awful noise.

"Hush," Shelby said. "There was always a possibility. Remember that, kid." She dragged him back into the theater and they returned to their seats. "Just one more now. McKinley is the wild card this year. We don't know anything about this Will Schuester."

"Or any of his kids?" Jesse squinted at McKinley's blurry black-and-white photo in the program. The faces were too small for him to pick out any that might be familiar.

"Not that I know of." Shelby was examining her program, too, and Jesse felt a fleeting flash of pride and camaraderie. He and Shelby were on the same page, doing and thinking and feeling the same things. She had taught him well, and now she was showing how much trust she had in him by bringing him along on this reconnaissance mission. "If there are any holdouts from the old director's team, they weren't anything worth remembering."

Very few people were worth remembering as far as Shelby was concerned, and Jesse knew that. He felt lucky to be counted among those few, and said nothing more. Slowly the lights dimmed. Jesse braced himself. This could be a tolerable performance, but it could also be worse than Haverhurst. Ready for it to go either way, he closed his program and prepared for the worst.

The big, brassy strains of Streisand's iconic "Don't Rain on my Parade" suddenly burst forth into the darkened theater, and Jesse wanted to drop his head into his hands. As if Jane Addams' rendition of "And I'm Telling You" wasn't bad enough, now a little nothing choir had to go and skewer Barbra, too?

The stage remained empty, a single spotlight trained front and center, and Jesse watched as the other members of the audience started glancing nervously at one another. Where was McKinley?

At the first sung note from behind him, Jesse was hooked. The voice was huge - too big for this little auditorium, too big for this little competition. It belonged high on a pedestal, surrounded in lights. This was a voice to bow down to, a voice at whose feet the rest of these kids needed to grovel. He whirled, eyes wide...

...to find a little slip of a girl in a black dress standing at the very back of the theater. The techie working the lights obviously had not known she'd be there, and the spotlight was hastily moved in her direction, the gaffe quickly corrected.

At first Jesse couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. The disconnect between his eyes and ears was too great. He heard a voice bigger and more beautiful than anything he'd ever heard live before, but his eyes were showing him a little dark-haired girl who couldn't possibly be for real. She was lip synching to a recording; she had to be. There was no other explanation for it. That voice was too big and too mature to belong to a girl who looked so young.

Jesse tried to turn to relay this opinion to Shelby, but he found himself curiously reluctant to remove his eyes from the girl now slowly working her way up the aisle toward the stage. When he finally managed it, he was in for an even bigger shock. Shelby was staring at the girl with an expression he couldn't read - and Jesse St. James thought he knew all of his mentor's expressions by now.

But he didn't know this one. Shelby Corcoran was white as a ghost, her dark eyes round and wide as she stared at the girl now winding her way toward their row. She looked...almost afraid. But that made no sense. One little girl couldn't possibly scare Shelby. She had her ways of dealing with the competition.

Jesse turned back to the singer, unable to keep his eyes off her for long. As she moved closer, several things became disconcertingly clear. First and foremost, she absolutely was not lip synching. No one could synch that well. Her chest rose with each huge inhalation as she sang, technical training becoming quite apparent. She knew how to breathe properly, how to make use of every inch of her lung capacity and thread her breaths through her diaphragm to produce the purest sounds and longest notes.

She was beautiful, too, which Jesse found almost a slap in the face as he realized it. Her skin flushed with the effort she put into her performance, and the red sash around her waist accentuated the rosy hue. Her dark eyes glittered and snapped with emotion as she sat on the arm of a seat and winked at the occupant - a boy with a Jewfro who gaped at her with utter adoration. As she rose from her perch and continued toward the stage Jesse felt a wave of a completely unknown emotion. Unknown in this situation, anyway.

Jealousy.

Not of her voice, but of that ridiculous-looking boy she'd tapped on the head and smiled at while she sang. Jesse was jealous because someone else had the attention of a girl. This had never happened to him before, and he didn't know what to do with the utterly confusing emotion.

Yet another appalling revelation came to light as she neared Jesse's row. He was seated on the aisle, and he had a perfect view of her slim figure in that little black dress with the red sash. Narrowing his eyes, he scanned her dark hair and her blushing cheeks for a headpiece mic. Nothing. Then he dropped his eyes to her pretty chest, looking for a lapel mic. Again, nothing. The realization filled Jesse with horror as he was forced to accept that there was absolutely no place on that girl's body she could possibly be hiding a microphone.

She was singing without one. That gigantic, marvelous, terrifying voice was filling and over-filling the theater...without amplification.

"Shelby," he muttered, unable to keep still any longer. "Shelby, she's not wearing a mic."

His mentor did not answer, and he couldn't take his eyes off of the singer long enough to see if she still looked as shell-shocked as she had earlier.

As the girl finally reached the stairs and mounted the stage, the set mics came to life, amplifying her voice still further. He wondered what the sound techs up in their booth were doing right about now. Probably frantically trying to modulate everything, to modify the mics so the vocals didn't drown out the instruments. Normally that wasn't a problem when you had a big brass section, but this girl's voice was almost too much even for Barbra's song.

And that was utterly galling. Not only did this girl have the balls to perform such a difficult and iconic number, but she was almost too much for it. Too much for a Streisand show tune. This was a high school choir competition. This wasn't _possible_.

As the number drew to its conclusion, the rest of the McKinley team finally emerged from the back of the theater and joined their teammate on stage. Jesse saw several of the boys adjusting their ties nervously, and he felt a sudden and intense kinship with the mystery singer. It was clear from the way the rest of her team held themselves that they knew she was their star. She carried the group just as Jesse carried Vocal Adrenaline - maybe more. At least the other members of Jesse's choir were somewhat talented. The verdict was still out on McKinley.

She ended the song to a standing ovation, which Jesse was not prepared to join. It floored him, then, when Shelby did. She rose to her feet beside him, hands automatically separating and coming together in robotic applause. Jesse saw something on her face he'd never seen before. Tears.

Shelby Corcoran was crying.

As the applause died down, the girl on stage smiled triumphantly. "Ladies and gentlemen," she said, and her speaking voice took Jesse by surprise. She sounded so young when she spoke. "New Directions!" She flourished as she presented her teammates, and the strains of an appropriately forgettable Stones song filtered through the theater.

As the soloist stepped into the group, swallowed by the taller members of her team, Jesse found his eyes searching for her. His ears pricked, trying to filter the blended vocals to find her voice again. It was so big that he was sure he'd be able to pick it up, but now she fit seamlessly with her group. They were rough around the edges, their choreography minimal. But the crowd ate up their energy, surging to their feet again and clapping along.

From a technical standpoint, Jesse could see their flaws. They weren't well rehearsed, was all he could assume. Did they think the sheer star power of their featured soloist would carry them through an entire three-song performance? It wasn't a terrible assumption - she was magnificent, after all. But that alone wouldn't guarantee them first place in a choir competition. _All_ of their numbers needed to be good.

They trotted out their stereotypical chunky African-American girl to wail at the end of the number, and while she sounded good, Jesse had to roll his eyes a little at the commonplace gesture. Although, he had to admit, at least their one wheelchair kid actually belonged in his chair. He moved much more easily than the Jane Addams girls did in theirs.

The second song bled into the third without a pause, and as the familiar strains of Queen filtered through the theater the audience quieted and returned to their seats. A trilling solo began, and the sweet power of the mystery girl's voice filled Jesse with warmth as it once again rolled through him. After only one line she was cut off by a ridiculously tall oaf with a weak...baritone, was he supposed to be? Irritation swept through Jesse as he listened to the duet supported from behind by the rest of the choir. It wasn't a duet at all. The female lead was supporting and carrying her partner - and doing a wonderful job of it, but Jesse could tell. The male lead was singing with his head, not his chest. There was no power behind his weak vocals; he wasn't even breathing properly. Jesse's mystery girl deserved so much better. She deserved a singing partner who could match her breath for breath, note for note. Someone who could perform the choreography without tripping over himself would be a plus, too. In short, she needed Jesse himself. No one else could possibly match her. Not at their age. Not in this state.

Jesse found himself glancing at Shelby again when they brought the "wailer" back near the end of the song. His mentor had a habit of trolling the middle schools in the area, scoping out talented kids and coaxing them to transfer to Carmel for high school. She was on top of everyone even remotely close enough to be considered a threat at Regionals. So why had this mystery girl with the powerhouse voice gone unnoticed? Why wasn't she at Carmel where she belonged?

Shelby refused to look at him, her calculating eyes still moist but no longer actively spilling tears. She remained focused on the stage, as if nothing else in the world would ever be important again. Jesse didn't know why, and he hated it. He was used to knowing Shelby better than anyone else in the world, but he couldn't explain her sudden and intense infatuation with McKinley's choir. Their flaws were readily apparent to Jesse, and Shelby had trained him so she must have seen the same. It couldn't be the whole choir then; it had to be the mystery girl. And yes, she was pretty and had a voice too marvelous for words. But Jesse didn't think that was enough to produce a response this severe from Shelby Corcoran. As McKinley took their bows and left the stage, Jesse scowled at his program. Below McKinley's photo was a list of names, but they meant nothing to him. The featured soloist wasn't even singled out, which Jesse considered a slap in the face. As applause swelled around him, he kept his head down and studied the list. Half of the names were male, and he rejected them out of hand. Mercedes and Santana were far too ethnic - while the powerful little soloist was clearly not a blue-eyed blonde, neither was she African-American or Hispanic. Jesse scowled at the remaining female names. Quinn? Brittany? He couldn't be sure.

Then he saw her name, and he knew. Rachel. Rachel Barbra Berry. The first name was reasonably Jewish, which fit with the shape of her face and set of her features. But it was the middle name that clinched it. She'd sung Streisand, and her parents clearly had the presence of mind to give her an utterly apropos namesake. Jesse studied the names a little more as the audience milled around waiting for the results to be announced, though there was really no competition. Jesse knew what the outcome would be. As rough as McKinley had been, they were the clear winners. Nobody could top Miss Rachel Barbra Berry note-for-note - not in this field, anyway - and the rest of her team had been acceptable. Not great. Not stunning. But acceptable.

"Shelby?" Jesse turned cautiously to his coach. She had composed herself while he studied his program, and by the time he looked at her she had a showface planted firmly across her sharp, angular features. He didn't know what her momentary lapse of control meant, but he was happy to see that it was now over. Jesse St. James did not like surprises. Jesse St. James did not deal well with change. "What are you going to offer her to leave McKinley and come to Carmel?"

It was the usual way of things. Shelby's main tactic when taking out the competition was to simply lure all the really talented kids into her clutches, thereby ensuring that her team would always win. She barely had to try anymore, really. Everyone knew Vocal Adrenaline. Everyone wanted to be part of Vocal Adrenaline. But here in this one little girl Jesse had finally met his match, and he knew it. No one else in Shelby's retinue could touch his talent. Now, finally, he'd have the performance partner he'd always dreamed of.

After the slightest pause, Shelby shook her head a little. An expression Jesse couldn't read flitted across her face and in an instant was gone, like the flash of iridescence on a bird's wing. He frowned. Shelby _never_ held out on him. She was always up-front and honest. There was no need to be otherwise; he'd been privy to her most conniving schemes for three and a half years now. "She's not coming to Carmel," Shelby said finally.

"But - "

She held up a hand, forestalling his questions. "I know," she said. "I know what you heard. I know my usual modus operandi. But we're not doing that this time."

"Why not?" Jesse wanted to scowl but wouldn't quite let himself go that far in front of his coach. He felt a sudden upwelling of injustice, though, and it was difficult to control. Why was he being denied when, clearly, this girl was his perfect match? Once again in his mind's eye he saw the way she'd perched coquettishly on the arm of a seat and tapped that Jewfro on the head. Jealousy again sparked within him, and Jesse St. James was not used to being jealous. Not of anybody. Not over a _girl_.

"There are...complications," Shelby admitted. She ducked her head, studying her program. "I'll tell you later."

"You will?" Jesse asked doubtfully. Just because she was his mentor didn't mean she shared everything with him.

"Yes." Shelby blinked several times, and a weak smile crossed her face. "You'll need all the ammunition I can give you, kid, because you've got a job ahead of you."

Understanding dawned, and Jesse beamed widely. Pride filled him that Shelby was entrusting this matter - this girl - to him. "I'm going to McKinley," he said, though it was unnecessary. He knew how Shelby's mind worked.

"Yes," she confirmed as the lights went down and the announcer took the stage once more. "You're going to McKinley. And Jesse?"

"Yeah?"

"We're doing Queen for Regionals. Let's show Mr. Will Schuester how the classics ought to be handled."

* * *

><p><strong>Stop here if you want to leave their first meeting in the music store intact!<strong>

* * *

><p>Later, Jesse milled around the lobby waiting for the teams to emerge from their dressing rooms. Well, really only one team. In fact, only one person. He was lying in wait for Rachel Berry. Shelby hadn't told him what the hangup about this girl was, but she'd given him his task and he planned to start immediately. No time like the present, after all.<p>

But why were they taking so long? Jesse frowned as he saw a door open down a hall and all the Jane Addams girls spill out. They stalked toward the exit, identical looks of sullen disgust on their faces. Jesse ducked his head, burying it in his program. Making eye contact with a girl like that wasn't a good idea. He kept his back to the wall to ensure the safety of his wallet, and did not look up again until the last of the spandex-clad bodies passed him by.

When he finally did risk a glance upward, his eyes zeroed in on the figure he'd been waiting for. Rachel Berry was standing in the hallway, still in her performance costume, and Jesse let a satisfied smile break across his mouth. She was beautiful. Her dark hair spilled down her shoulders, blending with the ebony sheen of her dress. The high waistline and red sash put emphasis on her small bust, playing up the gentle curves above which her collarbone stood out, sharp and elegant. His hand twitched at his side, wanting to trace that delicate line of bone, to know for sure just how soft the tender skin across it would feel. Well, if he played things right, he'd know soon. Shelby had given him permission, hadn't she? Of course she had.

Though a potential roadblock stood in the way at the moment, in the form of the ridiculously tall boy she'd been singing with on stage. He was standing with her in the hallway outside the green room. Jesse wasn't close enough to hear the conversation, but he was excellent at reading body language and what he saw pass between the two performers fascinated him.

They weren't dating. That much was obvious. Jesse could see the uncomfortable tension between them, the unspoken questions falling into the space between their bodies. The tall boy didn't seem able to touch her. Once or twice his hand lifted as if he were about to, but it always fell back to his side, the deed undone. For her part, Rachel Berry was on tenterhooks, barely able to converse with her duet partner. Jesse saw the fluttering tension in her small frame, the way she hesitated before each word and kept moving restlessly, her feet shifting, her hands never staying still. And though he'd never seen Rachel before in his life, he knew exactly what her body language meant.

She liked this guy. She liked him, and he liked her, but for whatever reason, they weren't together. Something had happened, though. Something big. They were in flux right now, allegiances shifting, lines drawn and redrawn. Though Jesse didn't know what had happened, he knew that this was quite possibly the perfect time for him to make his entrance. Now, before this non-relationship between Rachel and her ridiculously tall duet partner could escalate.

"Are you okay, Quinn?"

The words caught Jesse's attention and he turned his head slowly, intent on not being noticed. Quinn was one of the names from McKinley's team. He found the speaker, identifiable by her Lima Heights Adjacent accent. He'd bet money that this was Santana.

"I'm okay."

Jesse frowned inwardly, not letting the expression bleed onto his features. The blond girl - Quinn - was very pretty, but she sounded like she had a cold. What was the opposite of a nasally voice? If there was such a thing, this girl had it.

"You don't seem okay," Lima Heights Adjacent pressed. "Want me to beat Man-Hands for you? I could so take her."

"Finn isn't mine anymore," Quinn said, and even though she was trying to hide it Jesse could hear the wealth of pain in her voice. "What he chooses to do is none of my business."

"That doesn't sound like the same girl who threatened to rearrange Berry's face if she ever lay a hand on him."

Jesse had to fight the urge to smile. So that's what was going on? A nasty internal breakup had obviously caused a rift in the group, and Rachel seemed to be caught somewhere in the middle. Or Finn was. It was impossible to tell which, at the moment.

"Now's not the time," Quinn replied quietly. "She went out there and saved us today, almost single-handedly."

"Finn saved us by coming back," Santana argued. "Little Miss Bossypants had nothing to do with it. Besides, he's yours, Quinn. Maybe he's pissed right now, but when that fades he'll realize that everyone makes mistakes and he'll take you back. Why would you risk that by letting him get his hands dirty with that _thing_?"

The internal politics of this group were absolutely fascinating, and Jesse was glad of every bit of information he gleaned from the conversation. So Rachel was their star, but she wasn't highly regarded by her team members? Jesse smiled inwardly. That suited him just fine. It would make his job that much easier if she was hungry for a little affection.

Returning his attention to Finn and Rachel, Jesse watched them say their goodbyes. Finn's hand rose again and this time it did manage to touch her, his fingertips just brushing her elbow before he bolted, striding quickly down the hallway. The taller boy rushed past Jesse without a glance, and Jesse steeled himself. Rachel was alone now.

Showtime.

She didn't seem fazed by Finn's abrupt departure, and Jesse strolled casually closer to her as she stood in the hallway, deep in thought, her hand clasped around the spot Finn had just touched. So she was pining after that too-tall idiot with the weak baritone? Jesse could fix that.

"Hello."

She clearly hadn't noticed his approach, and she jumped a little when he spoke. Good. Jesse liked keeping people off balance. He saw the surprise in her dark eyes bleed away as she looked at him and recognition replaced caution. "You're Jesse St. James," she murmured, and he delighted in the shock playing across her expressive features.

"I am," he agreed. "I often come to check out the competition." Okay, it was Shelby's idea, but Rachel didn't need to know that. "I wanted to congratulate you on your win."

She flushed with happiness, and Jesse had to hide his amusement. Was she really so ill thought of at McKinley that a little praise pleased her this much? He pressed further, trying to gauge her reactions. "I knew your name as soon as I saw it in the program, Miss Rachel Barbra Berry. Not many people our age would have the nerve to choose such an iconic song. I could only deduce Streisand must be your namesake." He took her hand in his, cupping her fingers against his palm. She was warm, her hand small in his grasp. He regarded it carefully as he listened to her response.

"It was sort of a last-minute decision," she said, her voice breathy with excitement. "I wasn't supposed to be the soloist at all."

Jesse raised an eyebrow. Really? That performance had been on the fly? "It sounds like you deserve more congratulations, then," he said. He raised her hand, still clasped in his, and lay a gentle kiss against her knuckles. Her hand trembled slightly, and Jesse felt a rush of satisfaction. This would be too, too easy if a little gentlemanly suavity was all it took to get Miss Rachel Berry's attention.

He raised his head slowly, letting a true smile play across his mouth. Up close, she was just as lovely as she was from afar. Her mouth was big and expressive, and her doe-soft eyes were wide as she watched him. The blond Quinn might be more delicately-shaped and conventional, but Jesse never had been one for convention. He squeezed the hand still wrapped in his. He knew just how to play this game, and it was a game he loved. The thrill of a first meeting, of a potential conquest, flowed through his body. It was an adrenaline rush akin to performing in front of a sold-out audience. He didn't know what it was about flirting that he enjoyed so much, but he couldn't deny it.

No, that wasn't true. Jesse knew exactly what he liked about flirting. He loved the thrill of the chase, of having to think on his feet and perform his role flawlessly. He loved winning over girls every bit as much as he loved winning over audiences.

"It's a long story," Rachel murmured, and Jesse heard the flicker of nervous excitement in her voice.

"I'd love to hear it." He released her hand and leaned against the wall next to her, his eyes focused intently on her face. The way she shifted slightly from foot to foot told him everything he needed to know. She wasn't used to having this sort of attention from a good-looking guy like Jesse. She wasn't used to it at all, and she didn't know how to respond. Well, he'd make it easy for her. "Let me drive you home," he suggested. "You can tell me all about it on the way."

Rachel hesitated, which Jesse hadn't expected. "Finn, my duet partner, actually offered me a ride, and I had to turn him down. I'm supposed to be on the bus with everyone else."

Jesse smiled sweetly, not letting his irritation with the too-tall baritone show. This was only a minor hiccup; he could handle it with ease. "That's perfect, actually," he said. "Just tell your director you'll be riding with Finn, and they'll never miss you." He reached out, tracing the back of his fingers lightly down her bare arm. "Come on, it's just a ride. I'd love to hear more about you."

She shivered at the brush of his hand, and Jesse knew he had her. Though she hesitated a little more, he could see in her eyes how much she wanted to accept his offer. And not just the ride. For a girl like Rachel Berry, an open invitation to talk about herself was too tempting to pass up. Jesse wasn't stupid. He'd heard how Santana and Quinn talked about her. If Rachel was starved for a little attention, he'd gladly give it to her. It was a surefire way to get in her good graces.

"I can try," she said finally, her sweet dark eyes finding Jesse's.

"I'll wait right here," he promised, dropping his hand and letting her by.

And he did. Rachel was gone and back in a flash, and before long Jesse was helping her into the passenger's seat of his Range Rover. Her duffel bag with her regular clothes was tossed in the immaculate back seat, and Jesse watched with amusement as she eyed the inside of his car.

"Your car is much cleaner than any other high schooler's I've ever seen," Rachel said.

Jesse let out a genuine laugh as he turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of his parking spot. "What did you expect? Fast food bags and soda cans all over the floor?"

Rachel didn't blush or back down at his slightly mocking tone, which surprised Jesse a little. "Don't laugh," she said. "I know you know what I'm talking about, even if you _do_ go to Carmel."

Jesse chuckled. "I know," he said. "I know exactly what you mean. But you'll find that I'm not a typical high school guy. I don't leave dirty socks and old food all over my car."

"Or sports equipment?" Rachel shot back quickly.

Jesse made a face. "Sports? Who cares about sports? My dance bag is kept in a state of fastidious and immaculate order, and absolutely nothing else lives permanently in my car."

"Nothing?" Rachel asked skeptically.

Her suspicious tone warmed something inside Jesse, something he'd never felt before. Instead of arguing or defending himself, he grinned and pulled over in a strip mall parking lot.

"Go on," he said, popping the trunk. "Go inspect every inch of the car, and then you can see for yourself."

Rachel flashed him a challenging look before slipping out of her seatbelt and exiting the Rover. The fire snapping in her dark eyes was too, too lovely. Jesse couldn't help it. He followed her as she pulled open a back door and made a point of inspecting under the seats, then walked around to the trunk.

"There's stuff in here," she said, pulling a plastic storage container toward her and lifting the lid.

"That's not 'stuff'," Jesse argued. "It's my emergency kit."

Rachel rifled through the container, mumbling to herself. "Flares, emergency blanket, granola bars, water, tools, first-aid kit, paper maps...is there anything you're not prepared for?"

"Nope." Jesse grinned again as he watched her put the things back in exactly the order she'd found them. He couldn't explain how happy it made him that she seemed to care so much about organization.

"Hmm..." She tapped a finger against her pretty mouth, adopting a thinking pose that fit her quite nicely. "What about...a zombie attack? I see no zombie supplies back here. What would you do then?"

"That's easy," Jesse said, still grinning as he closed the trunk and walked Rachel back to her door. "Knock down the guy next to me and then run like hell."

Her laughter was smooth and easy, and it warmed that same unexpected place inside Jesse. What was going on? Rachel was a task, a goal; nothing more. He automatically put his hand to her elbow to help her back up into the tall vehicle, and the warm brush of skin against his palm made a quiver run down his spine. He tried to ignore it. Since when was Jesse St. James affected like this by a girl?

"So tell me how you ended up performing Streisand on the fly?" he said, settling into his own seat and turning the key again. Hearing this story was the original plan, he told himself. The unsettlingly familiar teasing with her wasn't.

Rachel was all too happy to tell the story, and as Jesse listened, he grew more and more fascinated. This group of misfits really was a walking, talking soap opera! She talked about their sappy director, Mr. Schuester, and how he got disqualified from Sectionals for sleeping on a mattress. The guidance counselor stepped up to take the kids to Sectionals instead, but Rachel didn't have much to say about her. Now, the cheerleading coach, Sue Sylvester - _she_ sounded like someone Jesse could relate to. In fact, she sounded a great deal like Shelby. Never satisfied, always pushing her team harder and farther. He wondered why she didn't just stage a hostile takeover of McKinley's glee club, but when he asked, Rachel just laughed.

"Miss Sylvester take over glee?" She made a face. "You're kidding, right? She hates us! The only time she's ever nice to us is when she's plotting something bad."

"She sounds a lot like Vocal Adrenaline's director," Jesse protested. "I have a hard time believing someone would plot so much if she didn't secretly care. What's her beef with Schuester anyway?"

"Well, everyone knows she hates his hair, but other than that?" Rachel shrugged. "And she doesn't care about anything except herself, so why would she care about the glee club?"

"She has to care on some level, or she wouldn't be wasting so much time on you," Jesse insisted. "I'm serious. I mean, Shelby rides us hard, but it's for a good reason. Sue must have a reason for what she does."

"Besides the fact that she's crazy?"

Jesse grinned. It had been quite a while since someone other than Shelby had the nerve to disagree with him, and he was actually enjoying the debate quite a bit. Miss Rachel Berry was proving to be quite the surprise. "I don't think she's crazy," he said. "Probably she has baggage, but that's not the same."

"Everyone has baggage," Rachel argued. "Not everyone acts like a vengeful nutcase."

_In my world they do_, Jesse thought, but he kept that opinion to himself.

"Jesse?"

He turned his head and gave Rachel a winning smile. "Yeah?"

Her voice was softer now, more hesitant, and he instantly picked up on the change. "Would...do you think you could give me your honest opinion about our performance today?"

"I never mind giving my opinion." It was true, too. There was very little Jesse liked more than offering up advice and opinions. "Your solo was magnificent," he said honestly. "Not perfect, but very good." He flashed her a crooked, knowing smile. "You're talented, Miss Rachel Barbra Berry. I would know. I'm very talented, too."

Rachel's eyes opened wide. Jesse wondered what he had said that struck a nerve, but he didn't have to wait long. "I told Finn that exact same thing, once!"

Jesse snorted. "The beanstalk? Don't play games, Rach. You and I are light years out of his league, and you know it." The nickname rolled off his tongue before he knew what he was doing, and he wanted to slap himself. He didn't like nicknames. They implied a level of familiarity he shared with no one.

Rachel bristled. He saw the way her back stiffened and her mouth tightened in an unhappy line, and he prepared himself for what might be a spat. Insulting Finn hadn't been wise, but he couldn't help himself. The guy was a lumbering idiot and didn't deserve Rachel's attention, let alone her admiration.

"Finn is a good guy," she snapped.

"I never said he wasn't," Jesse replied calmly. Her irritation didn't bother him. He knew what he was talking about. "I said he wasn't talented. Not like we are."

Rachel opened her mouth to defend Finn again, but the words didn't come. Jesse watched smugly as she tried to formulate an answer. It was clear that she wanted to speak up for the boy, but she couldn't honestly refute Jesse's statement. He watched her internal war, and for the first time he found himself wishing someone would stick up for him like that. People defended Jesse because they were afraid of him, not because they liked him. He was given top billing grudgingly, and there was nothing gracious about the way members of Vocal Adrenaline treated each other. They weren't friends, and that was something Jesse didn't understand about New Directions. The more Rachel talked about her fellow choir members, the more it seemed like she considered them friends. Good friends, even. But they were her rivals. Her _competition_. Didn't she understand that?

"Finn will never be on Broadway," she said slowly, and Jesse could hear the reluctance in her voice to admit this out loud. "But that isn't his dream."

"Is it yours?" Jesse asked, eager to turn the conversation in a new direction.

"Since I was three." Rachel's eyes glowed as she spoke, and Jesse knew she was telling a deep, personal truth. "My dream is to play three seminal roles." She took a breath to continue, but Jesse held up his hand.

"Don't tell me," he said. "Let me guess."

Her wide smile was his answer.

Jesse studied Rachel out of the corner of his eye as he drove. There were so many roles for a young girl with a voice like hers. Something from Les Mis? Eponine or Cosette, perhaps? She didn't seem like a good fit for Maria in the Sound of Music, though he bet she'd make a good Liesl. He could just imagine the two of them serenading each other with "Sixteen Going on Seventeen" and making the audience green with envy. She seemed a little too innocent to make a good Elphaba from Wicked, though Jesse admitted he had no real idea of her acting skills yet. Maybe she could pull off the world-weary witch.

"Well," he said slowly, starting with what he knew, "Funny Girl of course."

"That's cheating," Rachel said, giggling a little. "You already knew that one."

"Laurey from Oklahoma?" It was a chancy guess; he didn't know if she could dance like Laurey needed to. But he could completely see Rachel pulling off the naive bluster of the Rodgers & Hammerstein heroine.

"Yes!" Her eyes were wide and shining as she stared at him. "How did you know?"

"I can just hear you singing her dream." It was true, too. He could hear it perfectly. She would make an enchanting little spitfire prairie girl. "Do you dance?"

"Tap, jazz, ballet, and a little modern," Rachel said succinctly. "You?"

"Nix the modern and add ballroom." Jesse grinned. "I prefer the classical discipline of ballet, but a guy has to be well-rounded, you know?"

Rachel's smile was brighter than the sun, and it was all the answer Jesse needed.

"The third," he continued, turning off the freeway, "the third, though, I'll admit is tough. There are so many good roles for a young ingenue such as yourself."

"Should I give you a hint?"

"That would be lovely. Is it an iconic role, or a lesser-known one?"

"Iconic, of course! While I would relish the opportunity to bring a new character to life, there's something about revivals that thrills me. It's like the ultimate test - are you good enough to fill the shoes so admirably worn before?"

Jesse understood completely. But there were so many roles. He honestly didn't know which to pick. "It's not a cat, is it?" he said warily.

Rachel laughed. "No! There are some good male parts in Cats, but the only real female role with any substance is Grizabella and I'm far, far too young to even think about that one yet." She cocked her head to the side, considering. "You'd make a fair Rum Tum Tugger, though."

Jesse had, in fact, played that exact role during Vocal Adrenaline's Invitational his sophomore year, but he wasn't about to volunteer the information. If he mocked the Jane Addams girls for their spandex, he had no right to then bring up his own brush with the form-fitting material.

"I give up," Jesse said finally. He hated admitting defeat, even with something as silly as this, but he just couldn't narrow down the options in his head.

"Evita," Rachel said easily, not teasing him for giving up. "You guessed two out of three. Not bad."

Evita? Really? That hadn't even been on his list. He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "What would your parents think about that?" The role of Eva Peron was, after all, that of a woman who slept her way to the top. There wasn't anything too salacious the actress had to do on stage, but some of the song lyrics were very unflattering. Jesse didn't like the thought of anyone calling Rachel slurs like that, even in a script.

The girl in question rolled her eyes at him. "It's not like I said I wanted to play Mimi from Rent or something. Besides, my dads are huge fans of the arts. They understand the difference between the real world and a role."

"Dads?" Instantly Evita was forgotten as Jesse picked up on the new bit of information Rachel let fall.

"Mm-hm," she answered easily. "I feel sorry for any guy who chooses to date me. I don't have a mom, I have two very protective gay dads."

Jesse threw back his head and laughed. "Two dads to impress, huh?" He turned to grin at her. "Sounds like a challenge." Jesse always did like a challenge.

Rachel flashed him a winning smile brighter than the winter sun. "It's true. Though Daddy L is kind of a pushover sometimes. It's Daddy H you have to watch out for. He's small but scrappy, like me."

"Is he your biological dad?"

"We don't know." Rachel sounded proud while she spoke of her parents, which Jesse found an utterly foreign experience. Most teenagers wanted to get as far away from their parents as possible. Jesse himself didn't really feel one way or another about his mother and father. They weren't a huge part of his life. Not like Shelby. "They selected a surrogate based on a rigorous and exhaustive search for the perfect blend of IQ, looks, and of course talent. Then they mixed their sperm together." She smiled, affecting a little pose. "The end result was me."

She was too adorable. The warm feeling inside Jesse pulsed and expanded. What was going on? "So you don't know who your mother is?" he asked, trying to push that funny, fluttering warmth back down.

"My dads do, of course. I'm sure they all signed some sort of legal documents so it was all above-board." She paused, and a little of the shine went out of her eyes. Her mouth softened wistfully. "I always wondered a little, I guess. But I could never ask my dads. They're my parents and she was just a surrogate. A girl can't help but wonder, though."

Jesse didn't know about that. But he reached over with one hand and clasped hers, giving it a little squeeze. "How about the rest of your Sectionals story?" he suggested, steering the conversation back to a safer topic.

She lit up again as she continued, occasionally cutting herself off to give Jesse directions. He listened in silence to the ridiculous tale of deception. So Sue Sylvester had apparently leaked McKinley's set list to the other schools? And the other schools had taken McKinley's songs? The premise was ludicrous. Not Sue's involvement, but what the other schools had chosen to do with the information. Shelby would _never_ have agreed to steal another school's songs, especially days before the competition. She would have gladly taken the information Sue offered, and she would have made sure that her numbers were far superior to McKinley's choices. But she wouldn't have stolen McKinley's songs. That implied weakness on the part of the other choir directors. They thought McKinley was better than their own students - which had turned out to be the case - and the result was disastrous for all involved.

"It was extremely gratifying when everyone agreed I could have the solo," Rachel continued. "It's that house, right there."

They pulled up in front of a nondescript middle-class house with no other cars in the driveway. Jesse threw on the emergency brake and killed the engine, but didn't move to get out of the car. "Finish your story," he urged. "I really do want to hear it." He found, to his surprise, that he was telling the truth. Not only was the sordid tale morbidly fascinating, but Rachel seemed to come alive when he focused his attention on her. She glowed just as she had in the spotlight, the eyes of a packed auditorium riveted on her. "And why wouldn't they agree to give you the solo?" he added. "You're their star, Rachel. You're better than all of them."

Her eyes sparkled with the praise. "There's not much more to tell," she said. "They left the solo in my hands. Finn came to the rescue with the Rolling Stones. We'd done 'Somebody to Love' a while back for our Invitational, and never planned to reuse it. It felt rusty," she admitted. "But we didn't have a lot to fall back on."

"You still won," Jesse argued. "And it wasn't because of the Stones or Queen. It was because of you, Rachel. Finn coming back might have energized the rest of your team, but it didn't secure your victory. You did that all on your own."

Jesse couldn't help himself. He raised a hand and touched her cheek, running his fingers along the delicate line of her jaw. Her skin was petal-soft and warm against him, and he let his hand linger for a moment. A lock of hair fell from behind her ear, and he moved to carefully tuck it back. As his fingers threaded through the soft strands, their eyes met. Jesse didn't know what he was seeing, what he was feeling. Down was up, night was day. The unfamiliar warmth in the pit of his stomach grew, expanding slowly through him as he stared into Rachel's dark eyes.

"Jesse," she said, a whispered breath. The low, silken sound of his name in her mouth did something awful to his equilibrium.

He could kiss her now. It was clear from the soft shine in her eyes that he'd won this game. Maybe not permanently, but for this moment she was his. If he lowered his mouth to hers, she would allow it. Kiss him back. Maybe more. And he wanted to so, so badly.

But something stopped him. He didn't know if it was the strange warmth inside him or not, but something was holding him back. Something big had happened during this short drive, and he didn't know what, or how. All he knew was that the rules of the game had completely changed, and he couldn't claim a victory kiss. Not now, not like this.

But he couldn't just let her go, either. He absolutely couldn't. So he wove his fingers deeper into her hair, closing his hand around the soft strands and holding her still as he lowered his head toward hers. Instead of touching her tempting mouth with his, he ran his nose lightly along her cheek, inhaling deeply. He found her ear and kissed the skin just below it, velvet-soft against his lips.

She trembled against him, and Jesse took another steadying breath. "Meet me again," he said, whispering the words into the dark fall of her hair.

"Okay."

As she opened the door and slipped out of the Rover, Jesse slowly exhaled. His mind was whirling, but one thought stood out clearer than the rest. When he kissed her throat, he'd caught the faint hint of a very familiar scent lingering behind her ear.

Rachel was wearing Charlie perfume.

Nobody Rachel's age wore Charlie. It was a retro scent, a throwback; Shelby was the only person he knew who wore it. The smell didn't swirl around Rachel as it did Shelby - she must not have reapplied after her performance. But that subtle hint of perfume awoke a thousand triggers in Jesse's mind, a thousand little hints and nuances of Rachel Berry's voice and mannerisms that he had glossed over until this moment. Jesse dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his face. Rachel had long since disappeared into her house, and he stared dully at the closed door. He had a sinking suspicion he knew what Shelby was going to tell him when next they met, and he was not looking forward to it. This could break Rachel, and even after the ridiculously short amount of time they'd spent together, he didn't want that to happen.

But what could he possibly do about it? Nothing, Jesse thought, as he backed slowly out of the driveway and headed toward home. Shelby was the boss - his mentor, his director, his world. What she said was law. Jesse was powerless. He could do nothing.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I wanted to do Shelby's reveal to Jesse, but this was already ludicrously long for a oneshot. I'm really getting into these "fixes" and missing scenes! IDK which will be next, but there will be more. Mwah!_

_PS: I bet lots of you or your moms were Charlie girls! It was the quintessential scent of the '70s and well into the 1980s._


	3. Laryngitis

_A/N: Hi, duckies! I thought I'd make up for the utter horror-fest that is my Spring Awakening fic by giving my Glee buddies a little fluffy/smutty St. Berry oneshot. This one takes place during "Laryngitis". Just a couple of notes about these oneshots: one, they don't necessarily work with each other. They're not meant as a cohesive unit; each oneshot stands alone. Also, I may fudge facts here and there, particularly whether Jesse and Rachel have slept together prior to a particular scene. I just don't necessarily want to write each sexual encounter as Rachel's first; that gets boring after a while. Kapish?_

_One more note: this fic will deal a little more realistically with a throat/inner ear infection than the episode did. As anyone who suffers these knows, it's not terribly realistic that Rachel lost her singing voice but was still capable of talking just fine and was going about her normal school days—albeit a little frazzled. I realize why the writers did it, but I'm not going to follow suit._

_All standard disclaimers apply. Oh, and the Hotel del Coronado is a real place. I used to live in San Diego, and it's a beautiful old historic hotel. It's also rumored to be haunted!_

* * *

><p><strong>Jesse's Girl<strong>

Should he? Shouldn't he?

Jesse had been wrestling with the question for days now, and it wouldn't let him rest. He was still furious at Rachel for triple-casting him with her exes in that awful "Run, Joey, Run" video, but this time apart was difficult, nonetheless. He missed her. He grit his teeth together as he lounged poolside at the Hotel del Coronado, on Coronado Island in San Diego. It was the premiere resort in town, and Vocal Adrenaline always got the best of everything. Spring break accommodations were no exception.

But the sun and sand weren't working their magic this year. Jesse St. James had grave doubts about what he'd left behind in Ohio, and they ate at him even as the dry heat of southern California worked its magic on his skin. Jesse St. James did not doubt. It wasn't in his nature.

But he was doubting now, and even worrying a little, though he didn't like to admit it to himself. Yes, he was still mad at Rachel—furious, in fact. Yes, she'd hurt him with her childish decision to triple-cast him. But he was starting to regret how he'd left things—not even speaking to her before leaving town for San Diego. He hadn't had to tell her where he was going; they'd discussed this trip ages ago, and she knew that he'd be gone. So he'd felt no need to hammer the point home after their fight, particularly since he still technically wasn't speaking to her.

And how childish was that, Jesse thought ruefully to himself? He was a drama queen—or drama king, if such a thing existed—but he didn't like to think of himself as childish. Shelby had her share of drama, too, and he'd never call his coach childish. He didn't know why, then, he felt uneasy declaring that he wasn't speaking to Rachel.

"The emo look really doesn't work on you."

Jesse glanced up from his poolside lounger only to find his teammate, Andrea Cohen, standing next to his chair with her arms crossed. She was wearing a sheer wrap over a bikini and nothing else, but he really didn't care. The other guys around the pool were eying her with appreciation, but all he could see in his mind's eye was a different head of dark hair, a different set of shoulders gleaming in the light. He looked away, staring resolutely at the water. "I'm not emo," he said stonily.

"So what you're doing is acting, then?" She snorted and stepped closer to his seat. "Look at you. You're lounging by the pool at one of the premiere resorts in the entire country, the weather's beautiful, and you're as miserable as a cat in a rainstorm."

"Fuck off," Jesse said, though he doubted she would. The members of Vocal Adrenaline were not known for their tact. Like their coach, they thrived on drama. When it didn't enter their lives naturally, they created it amongst each other.

"Cute," Andrea snapped. "And here I was, about to have a perfectly nice conversation with you about how you're in California, where you've always wanted to be, and where you'll be moving in a few months."

"No you weren't." Jesse reached for his sunglasses and slid them on. He actually hated sunglasses, but at this moment he wanted them as a barrier between himself and Andrea. It was easier to push people away when they couldn't see his eyes.

"You're right," she said, and she reached swiftly down to the backpack near Jesse's feet. She extracted his phone and threw it at him.

Jesse caught it one-handed and scowled at her. "That's a new smartphone," he scolded. "You could have broken it."

"Call her."

"What?"

"You heard me." Andrea gave him a twisted, mocking smile.

"Who says there's a 'her' to call?"

"Look, everyone knows you're at McKinley to do a job for Ms. Corcoran. Whatever the hell it is, I don't care. But you've found a girl while you've been there, and don't you dare try to tell me you haven't." She paused. "Is it the little singer? The one who knocked that Streisand song out of the park at their Sectionals competition?"

"It doesn't matter." Jesse continued to stare at the pool. If Rachel were here, he thought idly, she'd be in the water by now, laughing and playing. All of these other people seemed to think a pool was a setpiece only—something to sit next to. The deck was crowded with vacationers, but nobody was actually swimming. Was this the world he was stepping into, he wondered? A world populated by people so uptight and worried about their images that they never let loose and did anything fun? It had never mattered to him before, but Rachel had showed him another way to live. Now he felt torn, and he hated it.

"I think it does." Andrea hitched her bag further up her arm. "Look, St. James, let me make myself perfectly clear. Once this job you're doing for Ms. Corcoran is over, you're coming back to Vocal Adrenaline where you belong. You're not really abandoning us, and I'm not advocating that you do. You're going to finish with McKinley and then we're going to win Nationals as a team, just like we always have. Got it?" She paused. "But I'm serious when I say you don't rock the emo look. If you start wearing guyliner, all bets are off." She grinned. "So call her. Whatever the hell happened, call her and get over it. Maybe then we can start acting like a team again."

"We only act like a team when we're a united front punking the competition," Jesse muttered.

"Exactly." Andrea's own phone buzzed, and she dug in her bag for it. "So get with the program, St. James, so we can go back to doing what we do best. Winning, and psyching out the competition."

With that, she walked away, her phone plastered to her ear.

Jesse stared at his phone. Andrea had a point. Several, actually, and he hated each and every one of them. His time at McKinley, and subsequently with Rachel, was finite. He had to accept that. So why on earth was he here in San Diego, wasting what little time he had? Being angry wasn't doing him any favors. It was hurting him more than it was hurting her, because he knew he couldn't stay with her and she didn't. Not yet. And he wasn't going to tell her until he absolutely had to. There was no point in ruining the rest of their time together.

Decided, Jesse woke up his phone and dialed the first number on his contact list. She'd be out of school for the day, and now that his mind was made up he was seizing the moment. He'd call her and tell her he was ready to hear her apology. They'd make up—maybe he could even talk her into singing with him over the phone. He couldn't touch her right now, but at least they could share a song.

After four rings—longer than he'd ever had to wait for Rachel to pick up her phone—she finally answered. But instead of her cute, lilting voice, he heard a strange, gritty noise. Then silence. He frowned. Had they been disconnected?

"Rachel?" he asked curiously. "Are you there?"

Again, nothing.

"Look, Rachel, if you're ignoring me, you're not doing a very good job of it. You shouldn't have even taken my call." He hadn't honestly thought Rachel needed any pointers in diva behavior, but really, what else was he to think?

There was another strange sound, but no words.

"Rachel?"

When she did not answer, Jesse lost patience. He disconnected the call and was about to drop his phone into his backpack when he paused. Rachel knew better than to pick up the phone if she really was ignoring him. Besides, _he_ was mad at _her_, not the other way around. She had no reason not to speak to him. Something obviously was going on. And if something was wrong, he needed to know.

The problem was, who to ask? Rachel clearly wasn't going to tell him herself. That left the other members of New Directions. And while Jesse hated to admit it, the person Rachel was closest to on her team was that walking giant, Finn Hudson. Jesse really, really did not want to talk to him. But he was Rachel's confidante, since the other girls in the club didn't really like her. And so, feeling like he had no other choice, Jesse slowly scrolled through his contacts until he found the one he was looking for.

Finn picked up on the second ring. "Didn't expect to hear from you," he said tightly.

Jesse had no intention of wasting time in smalltalk. "What's wrong with Rachel?"

"What's it to you?"

"She's my girlfriend," Jesse said tightly, a little surprised at the note of proprietary fierceness that worked its way into his voice. He hadn't expected to sound quite like that. But Rachel did things to his emotions that he didn't understand or expect, and her continued relationship with Hudson was more than problematic for him. He truly didn't understand what she saw in the lumbering jock, and while he refused to admit it to himself, he felt a little threatened by her devotion. Jesse wasn't stupid. While she'd chosen him over Finn this time around, he didn't know how many times she might make that same decision. And while part of him understood that he was still at McKinley merely as a spy for Shelby, another part of him had thrown itself fully into his role as Rachel's boyfriend. She was an amazing person, an enigma, a juxtaposition of brash confidence and bruising anxiety. She was vibrant and alive, and everything Jesse had forgotten how to be—everything Vocal Adrenaline had crushed out of him. Being with her made him happy in ways he couldn't describe. Regardless of how the relationship had started out, he couldn't deny that it had grown into something more. She wasn't just a game to him—wasn't just an acting exercise suggested by Shelby. Not anymore.

And he hated the fact that he now had to extract information about her from the detestable Finn Hudson.

"If she's your girlfriend, why aren't you here with her?" Hudson taunted.

"That," Jesse said tightly, "is an excellent question. I'm flying back as we speak. But I'd very much appreciate knowing what I'm walking into." The words were out of his mouth before he realized he'd made the decision, but once said, he knew that he was going to follow through. He was miserable here in San Diego, so there was no point in pretending otherwise. Let the rest of Vocal Adrenaline enjoy the sunny beach—he was going back to Ohio.

"Sorry," Hudson said, not sounding remorseful in the least. "If she wanted you to know, she'd tell you." And he hung up.

Jesse swore under his breath as he jerked himself up from his chair and grabbed his backpack. Thanking Vocal Adrenaline's generous boosters for the gift of the smartphone, he accessed Jacob ben Israel's blog as he stormed back into the hotel to pack his bag. If anything was going on at McKinley, the Jewfro would know it.

In the elevator, Jesse scanned through inane entries about the baseball team's chances at their next game and Puckerman's fluctuations in popularity. He jammed his key card into the lock on his door just as he found what he was looking for. The information made him stop in his tracks, halfway into the hotel room.

Laryngitis.

Rachel Berry had lost her voice.

* * *

><p>The next day, Jesse stalked with firm intent into McKinley High School. He wasn't wearing his signature messenger bag, nor was he planning on staying. He was here for one purpose only—to find Rachel. He'd gone by her house earlier and found no cars in the driveway, which could only mean that she was still intent on going to school no matter how sick she was. She was compromising her voice and therefore her future, and he wasn't going to let it continue.<p>

That nosy Jacob kid hadn't known exactly what was wrong with Rachel, so Jesse didn't have the full story. He only knew that Rachel had lost her voice due to laryngitis, and word on the street was that she didn't know if it would ever come back. On the plane ride, Jesse had used in-flight WiFi to frantically research everything he possibly could about laryngitis. There were many causes, including overuse of the voice, viral and bacterial infections, acid reflux, and smoking. Rachel had never touched a cigarette in her life and she didn't have problems with heartburn, but the other causes were all possibilities as far as Jesse knew. She carried her misfit glee club singlehandedly—or at least she did when Jesse wasn't there to share the burden. Having to compensate for the lack of drive and talent in the others could easily have contributed to any problems she was having with her voice. And he supposed there was always the possibility of infection, though she was scrupulous in her hygiene and self-care. Sometimes these things happened despite the best intentions.

His heart ached for her, it truly did. He understood, in a way the rest of her team could not, just how dire a situation this was, and how she must be feeling. Her voice was her ticket out of this nowhere town. Without it, she was stuck. She needed the stage, needed the limelight. Though she could dance and act, her love was music and she needed to be able to use her voice the way it was meant to be used. Jesse understood. He didn't know if life would be worth living if he ever lost his voice.

So he was going to do what Rachel clearly didn't want to do for herself. He was going to make her rest until her voice got better.

First period was about to start when Jesse headed into the building, but he didn't care. He strode through the crowds of students as if they weren't even there, and people parted before him almost like magic. It was amazing what a steely glare and a firm jaw could get you, he thought idly as he made his way toward Rachel's locker. He knew that she was taunted and bullied when he wasn't around, but nobody dared raise a hand against Jesse St. James. Not even Karofsky and his cronies. Jesse just hoped he wouldn't have to help clean slushie off of Rachel when he found her this morning.

A pair of dark pigtails came into view, and Jesse had to hide a smile. His irritation at the situation bled away as he recognized his girlfriend even from the back. Her two messy braids hung over her shoulders, and she was wrapped in a light brown shawl...cardigan...thing...over a typical Rachel Berry plaid dress. She turned to the side to reach into her locker, and his smile only grew. She was too adorable, even though she looked absolutely miserable and was dressed even more oddly than usual. He shook his head fondly before stepping up beside her and closing her locker firmly.

Rachel jumped a little, and she turned to look at him with wide eyes. "Jesse?" she whispered hesitantly.

He nodded, hating the scratchy sound apparent even in her whisper. He took her book bag off her shoulder and slung it over his own.

"What...?" she started, but before she could grate out another word she bit back a rough cough, her hand coming up to hold her chest as she winced.

"Don't talk," he said, and he knew the words came out less gentle than he wanted, but he was feeling his irritation with her start to seep back in. She was obviously sick, and she wasn't taking this seriously. She needed to rest if she was going to get better. A few days away from school wouldn't hurt her grades. "Come on."

"Where?" she managed to whisper.

Jesse slid his arm around her, guiding her back toward the exit. She fell in step beside him willingly enough, but he could feel her dark eyes continuing to watch him suspiciously. "I heard you were sick," he said, "and I had to come back to make sure you were okay."

Jesse risked a glance at her. Rachel's brown eyes shone with a tender light he'd never seen before, and it warmed the hesitant spot inside him that was falling deeper in love with her each day. "Really?" she whispered. "But San Diego..."

"Isn't as important as you," he finished firmly. "Didn't I say no more talking? You and your voice both need to rest if you're going to get better."

She listened for a minute, letting him guide them down the hall. Other students gave them curious glances, but nobody stepped in with a rude comment or a slushie. Not with Jesse around. He tightened his grip on her shoulder, pulling her more firmly into his side. She fit just perfectly in the crook of his arm, and he could feel the warmth of her body pressed so close next to him. He hadn't realized how much he would miss that feeling during the few days he spent away from her, and now he needed that reassurance of touch to calm his nerves. Yes, she was sick, but she would get better. In all likelihood her voice would return and she would be fine. There was nothing to worry about as long as she stopped being pigheaded and allowed herself to relax.

But when he tried to lead her out the main doors of the school, she balked. "Class starts in five minutes," she whispered, planting her feet and refusing to step outside.

"For everyone else," Jesse agreed, mentally preparing himself for the battle he suspected was about to begin. "Not for you. You're going home to rest."

"You can't be serious," she said, and Jesse had to bite back a grin. It was exceedingly difficult to snap in a whisper, and her attempts at whispered ferocity were really quite amusing. "I have perfect attendance! I'm not going to ruin that just because—"  
>"You are," Jesse said simply. "Don't you dare tell me that your attendance record is more important to you than your voice. Your <em>future<em>."

She opened her mouth to fire back a retort, but no words came. Jesse's smile grew broader. There really was no argument—she needed her voice too badly to refute him.

"It will get better no matter where I am," she finally said, though he could tell by her tone that she didn't entirely agree with her own words.

Jesse lifted his hand and touched the back of his fingers to her forehead. "You're warm," he said, moving his hand to her cheek. "This isn't just over-use of your voice, is it? You're actually sick."

She nodded reluctantly. "But the doctor gave me antibiotics," she said. "I'll be fine."

"Didn't he also tell you to rest?"

The warning bell rang, and Jesse saw Rachel cast a panicked glance back toward her classroom. He kept a firm grip around her shoulders, not allowing her to dart away. She nodded again.

"So why aren't you listening to him?"

"I'm not singing in glee rehearsals," she whispered. "What more do you want? School isn't that taxing."

"Sitting and listening to teachers drone on isn't hard, maybe, but the rest of it is. Don't you dare tell me you don't get anxious walking down the halls when I'm not here to stop the bullying."

Rachel dropped her eyes, but said nothing.

"Stress will only prolong the illness," Jesse said. "You need to rest, Rach. Come on. Let me take you home."

Before Rachel could say anything, a tall figure appeared around a corner. Jesse scowled inwardly as he recognized McKinley's own Jolly Green Giant, Finn Hudson.

"Rachel," Hudson said before he recognized the person she was standing next to. "Jesse? Aren't you supposed to be in San Diego?"

"I told you I was coming back to take care of her." Jesse tightened his arm around Rachel, but this time it had nothing to do with her wish to go to class. "Thanks for nothing, by the way. I had to figure out that she was sick from Jacob's blog."

Rachel raised questioning eyes to Jesse, and he flashed her a smile. "I called Hudson yesterday," he said, never one to pass up an opportunity to play up the other boy's faults in front of her. "After I called you and you wouldn't talk."

"I was trying," she protested in a whisper.

"I can see that now," he assured her, kissing the side of her head gently. "It's okay. But Hudson here wouldn't tell me what was wrong, so I checked Jacob's blog on my way back to check on you."

"He was with me at the doctor's," Rachel whispered, and she frowned at Finn. "He knew exactly what was wrong."

Jesse felt a surge of satisfaction that Rachel was now upset with Finn, but he was also upset to learn that Hudson had been with her when she found out what was wrong. He, Jesse, was supposed to be there for her. Not Finn. He clenched his teeth against the surge of jealousy, fighting it back down. He had her, he told himself firmly. She was tucked into his side at that very moment, warm and sweet, and he was in the process of taking her home so she could recuperate.

"You two were fighting," Finn protested. "I wasn't going to suddenly start gossiping with him on the phone!"

"It's not gossip to tell someone that their significant other needs them." Jesse rubbed his hand gently down Rachel's arm. That silly-looking cardigan-thing was incredibly soft. No wonder she was wearing it, despite how frumpy it looked.

"Oh, come on." Finn rolled his eyes. "She's got a throat infection that's spread to her inner ear. The doctor wants her tonsils removed, but she refuses. There. Happy now?"

"Not in the least," Jesse said calmly. "Not until Rachel heals and her voice is back. But that's really none of your business, is it?" He put gentle pressure on Rachel's arm, guiding her toward the door. "Let's go, Rach, before the bell rings. You need to go home and rest."

Thankfully, she didn't put up a fight in front of Finn. Jesse didn't know, but he suspected the other boy would side with her out of spite. He didn't care what Hudson thought, but he didn't want to cause a scene when he was trying desperately to get Rachel to rest. Stress was her enemy right now, and she had enough of it worrying about her voice. She didn't need to add him feuding with Hudson to the mix.

As they stepped out into the parking lot, Jesse shifted his grip and took her hand.

"Aren't you worried about getting sick, too?" she asked cautiously, looking at his hand entwined with hers.

Jesse grinned as he helped her up into his Range Rover. "You're on antibiotics, right?"

She nodded, still watching him.

"Then you should be past the infectious stage," he reassured her. "I'll be fine."

Her big dark eyes were watching him, and Jesse paused. She was just about at eye level with him as he stood next to the passenger seat of his car, and she reached out a hesitant hand to touch his cheek. "Did you really come back for me?" she whispered.

Jesse nodded. "Of course I did. Why wouldn't I?"

"Because I hurt you."

"Silly girl." He turned his head and kissed the hand cupping his cheek. "Yes, you did. But I love you, and you needed me."

"Does that mean you forgive me?"

He smiled. The wistfulness even in her hoarse whisper was too sweet. "You can give me a proper apology once you're better," he assured her. "For now, the answer is yes."

Her hand slipped from his cheek to his shoulder, and she pulled him close. He closed his arms around her, holding her in a tight hug for a long moment. This was where he belonged, and he took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of her shampoo. The ridiculous cardigan smelled like aftershave—now he understood why it looked so big on her; it must belong to one of her fathers. He smiled even more as he held her tight. Wearing her dad's sweater to school like an ugly brown security blanket was one of the more touching things he'd seen her do. She was a very sweet girl, once you got past the obnoxious veneer. Those dads of hers really had a lot to be proud of.

"Come on," he said finally, tugging gently on one of her braids. "Let's get you home so you can rest. Didn't your dads tell you to stay home?"

"They tried," she admitted, settling back into her seat and putting her seatbelt on. "They don't know how to say no to me." Another fit of coughing struck, and she shuddered with distaste when it was over. "I _never_ get sick."

"Shelby says that always makes it ten times worse when it finally does happen." Jesse turned the key, starting the engine and pulling out of the crowded parking lot.

"Were they mad at you for leaving San Diego?"

"Why should they be? I wasn't hurting their vacations." Jesse turned his head and smiled at her. "It's okay, drama queen. I'd rather be here with you anyway." He paused, feeling her smile warm something inside him. "So...throat and inner ear infection, huh?"

She grimaced. "Not fun," she whispered. "My throat hurts, I get coughing fits, and I'm dizzy on and off because the inner ear is what controls balance. Plus, I can't sing."

"But you won't let the doctor operate?"

"On my _throat_?" Somehow her whisper managed to sound horrified. "I thought you of all people would be able to understand why I don't want that."

"I do," he said, removing his hand from the wheel long enough to rub her leg soothingly. "Believe me, I do. I just wish there was an easy fix to this."

"Just time," she said with an impatient little sigh.

"And rest." Jesse glanced at her as they pulled into her driveway. "Which is what you're going to do for the rest of the day."

"Are you going back to school?" she asked as she slipped out of the Rover.

Jesse snorted. "Are you kidding? I've got an approved break for the rest of the week. There's no way I'm going back. I'm staying here and making sure you rest."

Rachel's smile was bright. "I hoped you'd say that."

She unlocked the door and let them into the quiet house. "Daddy L wanted to stay home with me," she whispered, dropping her bag next to the door, "but I told him not to bother since I wanted to go to school. Neither of them will be home until around seven."

"Upstairs with you, then." Jesse swatted playfully at her rear, earning a scowl as she flitted away from his hand and headed for the stairs. "Pajamas and bed. I'll bring up a movie. Do you want tea?"

"I hate tea."

"Orange juice it is."

"You can't just fill me full of juice and expect me to be magically cured."

Jesse headed into the kitchen, pretending he hadn't heard her stage whisper. "What's that?" he teased. "Can't hear you."

Her only reply was a short coughing fit, which sobered him again. Though the banter with Rachel was easy and familiar, it only masked the full extent of his worry for her. This was serious—she could lose her voice permanently, and he couldn't imagine a worse fate for Rachel Berry. She _was_ her voice, and while she was also so much more, without it she just wouldn't be the same person.

Jesse climbed the stairs deep in thought, a tall glass of juice in his hand. He couldn't imagine ever being in Rachel's position, and the uncertainty of her future in that moment was almost crushing, even to him. No matter what happened, he vowed to himself—no matter what Shelby had to say—he would not leave Rachel until he knew she was all right, one way or another. If her voice returned, that was great. If not, he'd stay until she had a new plan, a new goal for the future to fight for. He couldn't abandon her now—not like this. To hell with Shelby and the rest of Vocal Adrenaline if they tried to make him.

Her room was empty when he slipped inside, and Jesse frowned. "Rachel?"

"Coming." She slipped out of her bathroom, and his eyes went wide. She'd apparently listened when he told her to put her pajamas on, and while he was expecting some sort of baggy, concealing nightgown or flannel pants, that wasn't at all the case. Her father's cardigan was tossed across the bed, and she was wearing a pair of incredibly short pink sleep shorts and a white camisole with eyelet trimming. She'd taken out the braids, and her hair spilled down her back in messy waves. There was a touch more color in her skin than normal—due to the fever, he assumed—and she was absolutely stunning. While he approved wholeheartedly of the easy-access nature of her skirts and short little dresses—no matter how unwilling she generally was to take advantage of it—her long legs in those tiny shorts were breathtaking.

She frowned slightly at him now. "Why are you staring?" she asked, glancing down at herself. "Did I put my shirt on backward or something?"

Jesse swallowed hard. Was he really supposed to just sit around all day watching movies and letting her nap when she was dressed like that? Seriously? "I...just kind of assumed you slept in something else," he said. "Like flannel." Yards and yards of flannel.

"It's not December, Jesse." She looked up at him, and he could see the confusion on her expressive face. She really had no idea what her body in those clothes did to him. Her innocence would be laughable if it wasn't so astounding. She knew how to dress sexy and get the attention of boys—he'd seen her do it on more than one occasion. What was so different about this situation? Did she really not consider the effect her sleeping clothes would have on him? "Is there something wrong with this?"

Wrong wasn't quite the word for it. Jesse sighed, giving up and giving in. "Come here," he said, setting the glass of juice down on her nightstand and motioning her forward.

She padded barefoot across the floor, slipping easily into his arms, and Jesse closed his hands around the dip of her lower back, splaying his fingers across the stretchy material of her camisole. "You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?"

She eyed him almost mistrustfully, though she did not break the embrace. "It's hard to believe that when I'm getting slushies thrown in my face every day," she whispered.

Jesse chuckled and twisted, abruptly catching her behind her knees with one arm and lifting her easily. She exhaled in surprise, a scratchy sound that might have been a giggle of laughter if her poor throat was working, and clutched at his shoulders. He spun her around once, and she ducked her head close against his. "Jesse!" she pleaded. "Don't! I'm dizzy enough as it is!"

He stopped spinning them and pressed a contrite kiss against her cheek before laying her gently on her bed. "You, Rachel Berry, are one of those odd creatures who defy stereotype," he said, helping her under the blankets. Part of him despaired when her gleaming legs disappeared from view, but another part of him was relieved. She was sick, and he was supposed to be helping her feel better. Keeping her tempting body as covered as possible was surely the best plan. "Women have been bitching for generations about being judged just on their outer appearances. You've managed not only to achieve the opposite, but to have that achievement turned on its head. I don't know how you do it, but there it is."

She frowned again and sipped at the juice he offered her. "I don't understand."

Jesse slid on the bed next to her, letting his legs dangle off the side so his boots didn't touch the bedding. She curled easily against his side, and he slid his arm around the warm ball of her body. "You're beautiful, Rachel," he said. "Heart-stopping. But that's not how the rest of the school sees you. Women have been clamoring to be seen as more than just a pretty face for—christ, I don't know how long. And you've managed to achieve that."

She made a face. "Are you saying I should be proud that people don't like me even though I'm pretty?"

"You're not just pretty," he argued. "You're gorgeous, and you don't realize it because you keep getting stomped on by the school bullies."

"Beautiful people don't get treated the way I do," she protested.

"Not usually," Jesse agreed, stroking his hand down her bare arm. "You're the exception."

"Great." Even her whisper was laced with biting sarcasm.

Jesse chuckled. "That's what I mean. You've got what feminists have been saying they want for years, and yet for you it isn't a gift. I don't know how you've managed to do it."

"Just lucky, I guess." She wrinkled her nose. "Am I that obnoxious? Am I so bad that people don't care that I might be pretty?"

"Not to me." Jesse tipped her chin up, and he realized with a start that the words which had fallen so easily from his mouth were painfully true. Yes, she had a difficult personality. But his was arguably worse. They were so much alike, and every time she did something that made the rest of New Directions roll their eyes, Jesse found himself understanding implicitly and siding with her.

Well, every time except this last one. There was no way he'd have done what she did with that "Run, Joey, Run" video.

"Baby," he said, the pet name rolling unexpectedly off his tongue, "the truth of the matter is that you don't belong here. Neither of us do. That makes school hard for you—I get it. But someday you'll be in a place where people appreciate you for who and what you are."

"On stage," Rachel breathed, "in New York."

"Yes," he agreed. He wound a lock of her dark hair around his finger, playing with the shining strand. "It's an inevitability, Rach."

"Not if my voice doesn't come back."

He sighed and gathered her closer, kissing the top of her head. "I know how frightening this must be."

"No, you don't," she argued. "This has never happened to you!"

"Not exactly," Jesse agreed. He took the glass of juice from her hand and set it on the nightstand. "Come on—let's make a compromise. I'll tell you a story if you agree to lie down and rest."

"Will you stay with me?"

Jesse smiled. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Take your boots off, then."

He removed his shoes quickly and kicked them under the bed, then slid between the sheets with Rachel. Lounging in his tight black jeans wasn't necessarily the most comfortable thing in the world, but he wasn't about to complain. Not when Rachel slid into his arms again, resting her head on his shoulder and slipping one leg between his. He settled his near arm at the curve of her hip, playing his fingers against the tender skin where her shirt had ridden up, and caught her other hand in his. "Rest," he said, and sternly ordered his body to do the same. Yes, he was lying in bed with his girlfriend. Yes, she was barely dressed and they were home alone. But that didn't mean anything was happening between them. Not today; not while she was so sick.

"What kind of a story are you offering?" she asked, playing gently with his fingers.

"The kind where you rest your voice and don't talk." He kissed the soft fall of her hair. "You know I have two older siblings. I'm the spoiled baby of the family—I was a surprise, an unplanned gift. My brother and sister never forgave me for that." Jesse spoke lightly; matter-of-factly. He felt no hurt or remorse for the situation with his siblings. He was their parents' favorite, and for good reason. There was no point in denying it or dwelling on things that could not be changed. "When I was little, my brother in particular mocked me for loving to perform. He was a typical guy—he loved his BMX bike more than anything in the world, and he thought dance lessons would turn me gay."

Rachel snickered. "Like that would ever happen."

"I know, right?" He squeezed her hip. "Anyway, when I was an impressionable kid, I took his words to heart."

"I can't see you ever being impressionable."

"Hush," Jesse said, a smile flitting across his face. "You're supposed to be resting, not talking." It was true, though. He understood why no one would ever think he cared what other people thought or felt. Because he honestly didn't—not the way other kids did. He knew he was destined for greatness, and that knowledge made him more secure than his peers. He knew who he was. But when he was little, things had been different. "My parents weren't around much," he said, "even though they adored me. They were always running off on trips around the world. Both of my siblings were quite a bit older than me, and I was left to them and the housekeeper fairly often. During one of my parents' prolonged absences, my brother decided he was going to 'make a man' of me. He said he was sick of watching me prance around in dance shoes and no little brother of his was going to become a fruit."

"How old were you?"

"Nine."

Rachel shifted, propping her chin on his chest to gaze at him worriedly. "Jesse—"

"Hush, baby, no talking." He chuckled. "It's okay, anyway. This isn't a horror story. He took me outside, and he'd bought me my own BMX bike. I was actually a little excited to see it there next to his in the garage. His bike was battered to bits from all the rough handling it took, but mine was shiny and new. He took me to a skate park to teach me how to use it—I could ride a normal bike by then, of course, but trick riding was something I'd never tried."

"What happened?" Rachel asked cautiously.

"What do you think? I made a fool of myself and ended up breaking my leg. I had no business at a skate park like that when I didn't know what I was doing. My brother should have started me out on flat ground, with simple tricks, but he goaded me into jumping right into advanced moves. I was nine years old, and I wasn't ready for any of it. I ended up falling pretty badly and left a bunch of skin on the concrete. That snapping sound when my leg broke is still embedded in my head, I swear."

"Oh, Jesse." Her soft dark eyes were full of compassion, and Jesse smiled as he touched her cheek.

"It's okay," he said. "It's fine. But at the time, I thought the world had ended. My parents actually flew back from Paris, and they _never_ end their trips early. I was in the hospital for about a day, and I had to go home with a big bulky cast. Because the break had affected my knee, the doctors weren't sure how well the joint would heal. Nobody ever told me I'd never walk again or anything that dire. But they did say my dancing might be affected." Jesse paused, and his mind rolled back to those terrifying weeks when he had worn that cast, limping along on crutches, unsure whether he'd ever be able to dance again. It was the dancing that really had bothered him at the time, and he knew that if it ever happened again, he'd feel the same way now. "Even then," he said, "I knew I wanted to be a star. I had to live with the cast for eight weeks, and then I had to go to physical therapy to make my leg work properly again. People kept telling me I'd be able to walk and run and play sports just fine, but all I wanted to know was whether I would still be able to dance impeccably. Taking community-center classes in my spare time wasn't going to cut it. I needed to know that I would be able to do this as a career still. The doctors were all baffled by my insistence."

"Well, you were young," Rachel whispered. "They'd probably never met a little boy who was so sure about what he wanted to do."

"I'm sure that's true." Jesse smiled at her. "You understand though, don't you?"

She nodded, a soft smile playing across her mouth. "I do," she said. "I really do."

"So you understand what I'm trying to tell you. I understand what you're going through. I understand the uncertainty. But you're a strong person, Rachel. You have the resilience to get through this, just like I did."

"But your leg was obviously just fine."

"It was," Jesse agreed. "I'm in top form. And I have every confidence that you will be, too. But you need to give yourself time to rest and recuperate. You won't get better if you don't let yourself be sick."

She dropped her head against his chest again. "I hate this."

"I know you do." He cracked a gentle smile. "Believe me, I do. But I've got the rest of the week off, and I'll do my best to make this as easy as possible for you. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Rachel kissed his shoulder. "What was that you said about a movie?"

"Only if you promise not to sing along," Jesse teased.

She mock-scowled at him. "Can I mouth the words?"

"_Sotto voce_," he agreed. "No voice. A compromise."

Her smile was warm and bright. "Deal."

* * *

><p>Jesse woke some time later, surprised to find that he had fallen asleep. He wasn't a napper, generally. He shifted, the warm bulk of Rachel bundled up close to him. She shifted in her sleep, her leg moving lazily against his hip, and he froze.<p>

Yes, he knew that familiar sensation. Heat pooled in his groin, throbbing with an intensity that only Rachel ever woke in him. He'd awakened hard before—too many times to count, in fact. It was a male problem, and it was just something he dealt with. But never before had he woken in Rachel's arms, his body pleading for hers to the point of pain.

Not that his tight jeans were helping anything. Silently he cursed the fashion trend of close-tailored pants; they made his ass look great, but they really were a hindrance at the moment. He eased Rachel's leg away from the problem area, unable to stop himself from giving her lush skin a soft caress in the process. She mumbled a sleepy protest as he lessened the contact between their bodies, but she subsided again almost immediately. Not knowing what else to do but needing to relieve the pressure his clothing put on his painfully hard erection, Jesse opened his fly. His boxer-briefs weren't much better, though, and he was faced with a dilemma. He wasn't going to undress in Rachel's room in the middle of the afternoon like this. Not with her asleep and sick. Should he try to extricate himself from her warmth—go to her bathroom and take care of the problem? He didn't particularly want to. His body yearned to stay with her. But his cock was demanding attention, and while it wanted hers, he supposed his would have to do for now.

"Jesse?"

Rachel's sleepy whisper bled through his system, lighting along his nerves like fireworks. He took a deep, careful breath. "I'm here," he said, willing the hoarse need out of his voice.

"Why are you sitting up?"

She moved, her arms sliding around his hips, and before he could stop her, her hands had discovered the open fly of his jeans and the reason for it.

"I can't control it around you," he said tightly, trying to pull her arms away from him. "Let me take care of this and I'll be right back, I promise."

She didn't release him, and Jesse felt his entire body go still at her next words. "Why would you go 'take care of it' yourself when I'm right here?"

He turned to face her. The sleep was gone from her eyes and she lay back against her pillows, the soft bustline of her eyelet-trimmed camisole moving as she breathed. She was impossibly beautiful, and his body demanded that he listen to her. But his body wasn't in charge, his brain said firmly. He didn't answer to his baser needs like some caveman. "You're sick," he reminded her gently.

"You said I wasn't contagious anymore, so what's the problem?" She reached out a hand and touched his shirt, pulling lightly at him. "My dads won't be home for hours."

He swallowed. "But if you're not feeling well—"

She eyed him speculatively. "What about a compromise? I know you like those."

Jesse tried to hide a smile but failed. They'd first had sex weeks ago, and he was happy to say that the sensual side of Rachel was really an amazing thing to behold. The rumors at school that she was uptight and frigid were absolutely laughable, though he'd never do a thing to dispel them. While she did not react favorably to public displays—hence her unwillingness to take advantage of her short skirts most of the time—in private she was just as willing to jump him as he was to jump her. He'd never woken her up like this before, though, and he hadn't really expected her reaction to be so calmly accepting. Not while she was sick. Not so soon after their first real fight.

"Noah says the only thing better than angry sex is make-up sex," Rachel whispered quietly, as if reading his thoughts. "We've never tried either."

Still Jesse hesitated. Her skin was flushed, taking on the pale caramel cream color of arousal, and he knew once he lowered his head to taste he wouldn't be able to stop. Not when she was looking at him like that. So he needed to know now, once and for all, that she meant what she was saying. "What's the compromise?" he asked, trying to buy the time to make his final decision.

"I'll be good and stop trying to talk," she said, flashing him a winning smile even as she sat up, reaching for his shirt and drawing it over his head. "But only if you make it worth my while."

Jesse grinned. That wasn't a compromise—it was a challenge. And he liked those even better. "When have I ever not?" He reached down, pulling the blankets away from her body with one firm tug. Not that he'd needed much convincing, but the short battle was over. Rachel and his body had won, and he wasn't complaining one bit. He slipped her camisole over her head, his eyes running appreciatively over her nearly-naked body. "I won't last long," he said, dropping his head finally and sliding his lips along the tempting curve of her throat. "I need you too badly."

"I'm here," she whispered, her arms closing around his back before slipping down, pushing his open jeans over his hips. Her hands squeezed his backside and Jesse moved with the gesture, pressing his erection into the softness of her belly. She exhaled swiftly and shifted into a better position, letting him slip lower down her body.

Jesse quickly discarded the rest of his clothes and returned to her, heart racing. This wasn't at all what he'd expected when he flew back from San Diego, but he certainly wasn't complaining. He kissed her mouth, hungry for the taste of her, as her warm hand wrapped around his cock and pumped him firmly.

"Don't," he said, breaking away from her lips abruptly. "If you want this to continue, you can't do that to me right now." It felt amazingly good when she stroked him like that—too good. If he was going to make this good for her, she just couldn't tease him like that.

"Noted." She kissed him softly, then settled back against her pillows. "What should I do, then?"

"Just be here with me," he whispered, tugging her shorts down and exposing the last bit of her skin to his eyes. His cock hardened impossibly more at the sight. He lowered his head and kissed her belly, working his way up toward her firm breasts. "I know you can't moan and cry and tell me how good it feels right now, so just be here with me."

"I always am," she whispered, and he felt the shudder of pleasure sweep through her body as he closed his mouth around a nipple. She was so responsive, and he sorely missed hearing the pleasure in her voice. But if she didn't rest her vocal cords, they'd never get any better. So he contented himself with the responses of their bodies as he swirled his tongue around the stiff bud, feeling her legs part and rise to hold him close. She was wet already, slick and hot as she rubbed herself against his length. He wanted to bury himself inside her immediately, but he needed to make sure she was really ready first. They'd been having sex for weeks, but this was still new to her. He didn't want to push her, especially not while she was sick.

Her hands roamed his back, stroking him, scratching lightly along his scalp but staying away from his backside and hips. He was grateful that she seemed to take his warning to heart, because he really meant it. Sometimes he could last for hours, but at the moment he was strung so tightly that just one touch of her soft hands might undo him. And now that she was here with him and they were actively making love instead of him just "taking care" of his problem, he wanted this to last as long as possible. It would be quick, but he needed it to be good for both of them.

"Please," she whispered as he slid a hand between them and circled her clit with his fingers, "please, I want you inside."

He moved his hand willingly, intent on sliding a finger inside her, but she shifted her body away. "No," she said. "Not that. I don't want your hand; I want you."

"But—" Jesse tried to protest. They always started with hands so he could gauge her readiness. She was still so small and tight, and he desperately did not want to hurt her.

"It's okay," she whispered. "I won't break. I want you, Jesse. Please."

Who was he to argue with that? Only a fool would protest again, and Jesse St. James was no fool. He adjusted their position, holding his cock firmly as he guided it to her entrance. She was wet, the heat between her legs mind-blowing as he rubbed his erection against her slit, then pressed the tip slowly inside her. She couldn't cry out, but she made a pleased noise in her throat as he pushed fully inside, filling her completely. The feeling was indescribable, and he bit back a curse as he buried his head against her shoulder, feeling her hands against his back gripping him tightly.

"You feel so good," he managed to pant. He licked her clavicle, nibbled gently on her lips, and began to move.

She rocked with him, their rhythm perfectly balanced, just as it was when they danced. This was just a different kind of dance, he realized as he pressed into her and then pulled almost all the way out. Pleasure surged through his body, igniting every nerve ending and setting them alight. He altered their position so that his length pressed against her clit with each thrust, and he felt her involuntary shudders and flickers of motion as they rocked together. Under normal circumstances she would be making delicious little whimpering sounds and whispering Rachel Berry's version of dirty talk in his ear, and he had to admit that her noises made the experience so much more enjoyable. But he'd take sex with her just about any way he could get it, and he wasn't passing up the opportunity just because she couldn't respond vocally.

He sped up a little more, confident now that she was enjoying herself and he didn't have to worry about her agreeing to have sex merely to placate him. She couldn't fake the kind of responses her body was giving him, and he surrendered to the sensation, his fear gone. Each thrust into her tightness was a rush of intense sensation that nearly sent him over the edge, but he did his best to hold off. The familiar ache in his testicles that meant he was close was creeping up on him, and he thrust a little harder, making her let out a ragged squeal. Her body quivered and tensed, and Jesse gave her two short, quick thrusts, knowing what it would take to make her come. The intense sensation did the trick and she exploded around him, her body gripping him tightly, her hips shoving toward his even as her inner walls clenched and released in dizzying waves of pleasure. It was too much for his taut nerves to endure and he followed her, thrusting deeply and holding himself there as he came hard inside her, the sensation and emotion twining together to an almost unbearable pitch. His balls contracted as he released, spilling inside her. He was the only one who had ever done this, who had ever been inside her like this. She was safely on birth control and wouldn't get pregnant, but the possessive male instinct within Jesse lit nonetheless as he came hard, his orgasm continuing for long moments. While part of him knew their time together was limited, the clock ticking away each second, the bigger part of him wanted to be the only person to _ever_ do this with her. He wanted to be the person, when they were older, that she woke up to every morning. He wanted that special shine in her soft brown eyes to be there only for _him_. And for the moment, he told himself firmly, he was going to pretend that was possible. He pushed away all thoughts of the truth of their relationship, all thoughts of Shelby and the reason he was here in Rachel's life. He let himself imagine a future where they were together, his broken leg and her laryngitis forgotten as they sang and danced their way into the hearts of millions, then returned each night to each other. He buried his head in the crook of her neck, letting her hold him as they came down from their respective highs. It was a beautiful vision, and one he wanted so badly.

"I love when you touch me," she whispered into his hair. "Wasn't that better than taking care of things yourself?"

So much, Jesse wanted to say. There was really no comparison. He kissed her throat. "No talking," he said, trying to force a note of humor into his voice when he really wasn't feeling it. "We agreed, remember?"

"I'm whispering," she shot back. "Whispering doesn't involve the vocal cords; we made no agreement about that." She smiled as he finally pulled away from her tempting skin. She was slick with sweat and her hair was mussed, but she was too, too beautiful.

"I love you," he said abruptly, without meaning to. They'd used the words before, but he'd never meant them quite this strongly. Not until this moment.

Surprise flashed across her face. "I love you, too," she whispered. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He kissed her forehead, then her mouth. "Nothing but your voice." He smiled gently, trying to banish the niggling doubts in his mind, the ones telling him that he couldn't bury his head in the sand forever. "I miss it."

"Me, too."

Before she could lapse into feeling sorry for herself again, Jesse kissed her. "It will come back," he said. "Maybe even better than ever after a good rest. It'll be okay, Rach. You'll see." The words were as much for him as for her.

They shifted positions in the bed, spooning tightly together. Jesse loved to hold her like this, her body pressed firmly against his. When she was in his arms it felt like no one could ever take her away. She hadn't asked for her clothes back and he wasn't offering.

"Our assignment in glee club this week was to find a song that reflects us as people—where we are right now in our lives," Rachel whispered after a moment.

"I'm not going to ask what you sang, because you better not have."

He felt her silent chuckle, which was what he'd been hoping for. She paused. "Finn used the assignment to sing to me."

Jesse's arms tightened around her. "Oh? What did he sing?" There were a million different ideas in his head, none of them good. He accepted that Hudson was Rachel's friend, but he didn't appreciate the beanstalk moving in while he was gone.

"Jesse's Girl," Rachel admitted.

Jesse tensed. It wasn't a risque song, which was one of the things he'd feared. But it spelled out the circumstances of their situation laughably well. Rachel _was_ his girl. His, and no one else's. How they'd gotten to this point didn't matter anymore. They belonged together. And Hudson could serenade her with as many insipid eighties tunes as he wanted; it wouldn't change anything. Not if Jesse had anything to do with it.

"I _am_ your girl, Jesse," she whispered. "If you'll still have me. I'm sorry for that stupid video; it was wrong of me. But it doesn't change how I feel."

"I know that." He pressed his lips against the sleek fall of her hair. "It doesn't make me any happier with Hudson, though."

"I know."

Some of the lyrics of the eighties classic filtered through Jesse's mind. Yes, Hudson would be able to see how Rachel watched him with her big dark eyes. Anyone could see that. But the football player didn't know—nobody knew—just how far their relationship had progressed in such a short amount of time. Hudson might guess, but he'd never know what Rachel was like when she was alone with Jesse. He'd never see the true depth of her emotions, or the beautiful way they expressed themselves physically. Because she really was Jesse's girl, and not Finn's. And nothing could change that now—not him, not Shelby...nothing.

"He said you wouldn't stick around if we found out I'd never sing again," Rachel whispered haltingly. He could hear the fear even in her whisper and knew that Hudson's words had struck a chord with her insecurities.

They struck a nerve with Jesse, too. Because they hit far too close to home, and yet they were so very, very wrong. If Rachel was no longer able to sing, he wouldn't leave her. Her voice was marvelous, but that wasn't why he loved her.

"I'm not going anywhere," Jesse said firmly. "Sleep now." He rubbed his thumb against the impossibly soft skin of her stomach. "I'll still be here when you wake up."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Hm...a little more angst than I expected. Maybe next time I'll just pretend Jesse isn't still conflicted and planning to leave. It would make things so much easier._

_Once again, for any Spring Awakening fans here, I __am__ working on a SA Melchior/Wendla fic now, but it is extremely, extremely dark, so this is both a shameless plug and a warning. There are three chapters up right now and I'm working on the fourth. Wendla does not die, but at the moment, quite frankly, she may be wishing otherwise. (But, again, I'm a sucker for happy endings; I'll gladly drag characters through hell, but they'll always get their HEA from me!)_

_Mwah! Till next time, duckies! (And, yes, reviews mean next time will definitely come sooner!)_


	4. Future 1

_A/N: Okay, two notes. One—I usually don't update this quickly. Two—I usually don't write futurefics. But __ladylookslikeadude__ told me the previous chapter was too angsty, which I totally get since it wasn't meant to be sad but somehow turned out that way. So to placate, here's a sweet, humorous chapter with little to no angst. And yes, it's a futurefic. And yes, I do expect reviews if I have to be so sickly sweet! (lol, I was working on this anyway!)_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

><p>"So where's Jesse?"<p>

Rachel flashed her best friend an annoyed look. "Where do you think?" She paced the confines of the small room, turning slowly when she reached the far wall only to pace back toward the door. "Why are you here, anyway?"

"You called me." Kurt grinned and leaned against the closed door. "Or did you forget already?"

Rachel closed her eyes as if summoning patience, and she exhaled a long breath through her nose. "Yes," she said, "I realize I called you. I called you to help me get over here so I didn't have to take a taxi by myself in this state. Task accomplished, I'm wondering why you're still hanging around. Isn't this the kind of gross feminine stuff you get to avoid because you're gay?"

"Yup." Kurt only smiled wider. "I don't _have_ to be here. I can leave anytime. That knowledge makes it much easier to put up with you right now—which I'm doing, by the way, just until Jesse gets here. Then he can take over with my blessing."

"Don't hold your breath," Rachel muttered. She grasped the back of a wooden chair and stood still, breathing deeply for a long minute. "Fuck," she hissed. "That _hurts_."

"Don't swear in front of the baby," Kurt admonished teasingly.

"We've been swearing in front of it for the past nine months," Rachel snapped back when she could speak again. "I see no reason to stop now."

"You will. What will your fathers think when their grandchild's first word is a four-letter one?"

"My dads!" Rachel moved unsteadily toward a suitcase in the corner of the room. "I forgot to call them! Kurt, I have a list."

"Of course you do." He held out a restraining hand, stilling her movements, and motioned to Blaine. The taller man hustled to the bag and pulled out a file folder. "Is this what you're looking for?"

Rachel began to pace again. "Yes," she said, snatching the glossy folder out of his hand. She flipped it open and tossed the first paper on the ground. "Packing list," she said. "I don't know why I bothered—wait, yes I do. I kept a copy so I'd know exactly what was in the bag."

"Of course you did," Kurt murmured, fond amusement coloring his voice.

Rachel flashed him a look but chose not to comment. "Here's the list of people to call," she said, shoving the next paper into Blaine's hands.

"Um...Rachel?" Blaine scanned the list, frowning slightly. "Jesse isn't on here." He took a closer look at the paper. "It says to call your dads and Shelby right away, and there's a whole slew of people to call afterward. Friends, extended family members, co-workers...but no Jesse. His theater isn't listed, either."

"He doesn't need to be on the list," Rachel snapped. "I left him a voicemail before I called you."

"Rachel, don't you think the birth of his first child warrants a little more than a voicemail?" Kurt asked.

"He'll get it when the show's over. What more do you want me to do?" She hissed again as another contraction hit.

Kurt waited to give his opinion until Rachel stopped leaning on the back of the chair and was breathing more normally again. Sweat was beginning to lay a thin, damp sheen across her skin, and her cheeks were redder than normal.

When she and Jesse first announced that they were having a baby, Kurt had to admit that he felt a little trepidation. Rachel was so high-maintenance already that the thought of her pregnant was more than a little frightening. He hadn't been wrong, either—she was even more emotional and demanding while gestating. It would have been annoying if it wasn't so funny. Jesse spoiled her rotten, particularly during the last month when her stomach absolutely ballooned in girth. Kurt had never paid much attention to pregnant women before—even back in high school when Quinn Fabray's Babygate scandal rocked McKinley—and it shocked him now to see just how unwieldy and misshapen Rachel became as her due date neared.

She had actually been fairly calm when she called that night, informing him that Jesse was at the theater and Kurt therefore had to accompany her to the midwife-staffed birthing center she and Jesse had chosen. Since they lived in the same building, it had only taken Kurt minutes to fetch her from her apartment while Blaine hailed a cab.

Now they were ensconced in a warm, dimly-lit room, and Kurt didn't quite know what to do with himself. He wasn't equipped for this. Jesse was supposed to be here, not him and Blaine. He fully intended to spoil the kid rotten as an uncle should, but he had no intention to actually be there for the birth. Rachel was right enough about that. Birth just sounded...messy. And, frankly, gross. But he couldn't just abandon Rachel here with no one, and she didn't seem to want to call Jesse away from his play.

"Rachel," he tried gently, "if we call the theater, they can send a techie to fetch him. His understudy can take over for the rest of the night. That's what an understudy is for."

"His understudy is a talentless idiot." She glared at Kurt as she breathed slowly through her nose. "There's no way I'm disturbing Jesse's performance right now. The show must go on."

"You're being ridiculous."

"I'm bringing life into the world here. I think I'm entitled."

"Jesse's not going to be happy about this."

"Bullshit. His performance means the world to him."

"As much as the woman he loves and the baby that's about to be born?"

Rachel was dangerously silent, and Kurt risked a glance at his lover. One look was all it took, and he and Blaine were instantly on the same wavelength. Blaine nodded slightly and headed out the door, his cell phone in one hand and Rachel's list of contacts in the other.

"Where is he going?" Rachel asked suspiciously.

"To call your dads," Kurt soothed. "I don't know why you didn't have them fly in earlier. It's not like you had no idea when this was going to happen."

"Due dates aren't totally accurate, and you know that." Rachel winced, and Kurt swore he actually saw a ripple of movement against the skin of her swollen abdomen. "I'm three days early. When Jesse's sister had her kid, she was almost two weeks late." She grimaced. "I can't imagine walking around for an extra two weeks like this. They almost decided to induce her."

"That reminds me. What about Jesse's parents? They were conspicuously absent from your contact list."

"Fuck them." Rachel made another face and sat down heavily in the chair she'd been leaning against. She pulled up the loose camisole she was wearing, exposing the tightly-stretched skin over her belly, and rested her hands against the strangely-shaped bulge. "You know they can't stand me. They were horrified when Jesse told them we were pregnant, and we agreed to leave them out of it for now. It's their loss, not ours."

"I know they thought you weren't good enough for their 'perfect little boy,'" Kurt said, purposefully making air quotes to see Rachel smile. "But are they seriously still pissed about that? Or is it something else?"

Rachel shrugged. "It's everything," she said, trailing her hands across her skin. "I'm Jewish. My dads are gay, and they're not rich. Jesse and I aren't married. Take your pick, really."

"But you've been together since his senior year of high school, give or take a few bumps in the road," Kurt argued. Keeping Rachel talking would hopefully distract her from Blaine's continued absence. Kurt knew—as she did not—that the dark-haired man was actually calling Jesse's theater as well as Rachel's dads. As much as she insisted she didn't want to disturb Jesse's performance, Kurt knew she needed and wanted him to be with her. Jesse would prefer to know, too; Kurt was sure of it.

"You call egging me in the parking lot and then disappearing for a year a bump in the road?" Rachel eyed him skeptically, but her glare was cut short by another contraction. Kurt watched in fascination as he actually saw rippling movement under her skin. It was wondrous and horrifying all at once. So strange to think that soon—maybe in just a few short hours—an entirely new person would emerge from within Rachel's body. They already knew that the baby was a girl, and her name was Judy Grace St. James—or Gracie for short. Kurt had fought hard to name her after Shirley Temple, but both Rachel and Jesse argued that since she was almost guaranteed to have dark hair, that just wouldn't work. Instead they named her after Garland and Kelly, ensuring that she'd have some enormous shoes to fill someday. The fact that both her parents were successful Broadway triple-threats clinched the deal. Kurt didn't know how this kid could ever grow up to be anything but a performer. Either that or an accountant with an astronomical therapy bill.

"So some of your speed bumps were pretty big ones," Kurt said, hoping the humor would help Rachel at least a little as she breathed through the pain. He wasn't about to offer her his hand. He knew all about that shit, and he wasn't for one minute going to let her break his fingers. That's what Jesse was for.

"Speed bumps, traffic lights—have I mentioned how much I fucking hate metaphors?"

"Even gold stars?" Kurt teased.

"I kind of lost my taste for them after I found out Shelby liked them, too." Rachel's face was really red now, and she shifted in the chair, trying to find a comfortable position. Nothing seemed to be helping.

"I thought you made your peace with her."

"I did," Rachel agreed. She stood up again and resumed her pacing, pressing her hands against her lower back as if it ached. "That doesn't mean she didn't hurt me, but we're trying to work past it. There are some things that will never be fixed, though."

"What does she think about becoming a grandmother?"

Rachel snorted. "I don't think she knows what to think. Besides, Beth is only eight years old. I can guarantee that Shelby will feel more like a grandmother when _she_ has kids."

"Let's hope that's not for a long while."

"Seriously." Rachel swore again. "If I knew how much this hurt, I'd never have called Quinn a wimp for wanting drugs."

"You sure you still want to do this _au natural_?"

"Yes." Rachel breathed deeply through her nose. "I can, and I will."

"And then you'll murder Jesse when he finally gets here?"

Rachel beamed. "You know me so well, Kurt."

He smiled back. "What are best friends for?"

* * *

><p>Forty-five minutes later not much had changed. The midwife checked in twice to see that all was progressing normally and Rachel's doula had arrived, sleepy but upbeat, not five minutes after Blaine left to start the phone calls. Kurt didn't entirely care for the older woman, but he kept his peace. She had a wealth of knowledge, and Rachel seemed to trust her. That was what mattered, after all.<p>

"Explain to me again what a doula does, exactly?" Blaine said, standing near the door.

"I'm here for emotional support," she said succinctly, letting Rachel lean against her round arm as they paced slowly back and forth across the small room. "There are three women giving birth tonight, and the midwife can't be with all of them at once. My job is to keep mama here feeling as good as she possibly can, and to alert the midwife of any changes I'm not medically trained—that's the midwife's job. But I've guided plenty of mothers through this process, and it helps to have someone around who knows what they're doing, especially for a first-timer." She smiled at Rachel.

Kurt bit back his initial retort, which was that he assumed the emotional support should be Jesse's job. He knew Blaine had left a message with the theater to give to Jesse, and he hoped he'd be here soon. No matter what Rachel said, he knew neither of them truly wanted Jesse to miss this experience.

"It's good to have such supportive friends," the doula went on, talking through Rachel's next contraction as if it wasn't even happening. Kurt had disliked that at first, but he was learning that Rachel preferred the talk. It helped take her mind off the terrifying things her body was going through.

And it _was_ terrifying, at least from Kurt's perspective. He really, really needed Jesse to get here soon, because he didn't know how much longer this was going to go on and he sure as hell didn't want to be stuck in the room when shit seriously started going down.

Right now Rachel was in pain, but things were relatively calm. She and the doula walked slowly back and forth as much as possible—the older woman said that the movement and gravity would help speed things along. When Rachel couldn't walk she sat on the wooden chair or knelt on the floor and leaned forward against a big exercise ball. She'd changed out of her camisole into a stretchy sports bra, and perhaps the most appalling thing to Kurt was that he could, in fact, actually see movement under the taut surface of her skin. Her swollen belly was actually rippling, the shudders of her muscles visible when each contraction hit. She was calm for the most part, cursing Jesse quietly after every contraction, but Kurt found that perfectly understandable under the circumstances. But he absolutely did not want to be in the room for the moment of birth. There were just sometimes as a friend when he had to draw the line.

As if she could read his thoughts, the doula turned her head and grinned at him and Blaine. "Supportive friends like you," she continued. "You know, if Dad doesn't get here in time, you get to help."

Oh, no. _Hell_ no. Kurt's eyes went wide. "How's my fainting going to help?" he demanded.

"Will you both shut up?" Rachel snapped. "Jesse's play gets out in an hour. Give him time to change and sign autographs at the stage door, he'll be here in two and a half maybe. I'm still only five centimeters dilated, the midwife said. There's still every possibility that he'll be here."

"Can I ask a question?" Blaine said hesitantly. "I've never been entirely clear about _what's_ dilating."

The doula opened her mouth to explain just as Kurt slapped his hands over his ears. Rachel held up a warning hand to the older woman. "Don't answer that," she said firmly. "If Kurt starts puking I'll start puking, and that is _not_ how I want to bring my baby into the world."

The doula looked amused, and she flashed Blaine a commiserating look. "There are books and pamphlets in the lobby," she said gently. "Feel free to bring one in if you're at all interested."

"I kind of am," he admitted.

"Then go read it over there," Kurt ordered, pointing to the other side of the dimly-lit room. "I don't want to accidentally see any diagrams. God help me—or photos."

Blaine moved to open the door, but just as his hand extended toward the latch it turned on its own. The midwife stepped into the room, followed by a very flustered and anxious Jesse St. James.

"Rachel Barbra Berry," he snapped, closing the door firmly behind him. "What on earth possessed you to try to do this without me?"

"Oh, thank god." Kurt breathed a sigh of relief. "That's our cue. We'll be in the lobby, hon," he told Rachel. "_Not_ reading pamphlets."

"Speak for yourself." Blaine crossed to Rachel and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Good luck," he said. "Can I ask you any questions I might have after reading the pamphlets?"

She laughed, fully aware that he was just teasing Kurt. "No problem," she said, playing along. "Afterward, that is."

"Yeah," Jesse agreed, "afterward. Right now—beat it."

"We're going, we're going. You know, I can really feel the love in the room," Kurt quipped as he and Blaine beat a hasty retreat to the lobby. They were already awake, so there was no point in going home if they were just going to turn around and come back as soon as the baby was born.

Once their best friends were out of the room, Jesse turned back to Rachel. "I'm serious," he said. "You really were going to do this alone?"

"I'm not alone," she said, but her next words were cut off by a strong contraction. Her steps faltered and her knees quivered; Jesse quickly stepped to her free side, helping the doula prop her up as she rode the pain.

"Breathe," Jesse said quietly, his irritation evaporating as he watched the love of his life shudder in pain. He touched her exposed abdomen and could actually feel movement against his palm—it was so different from the soft pulses of sensation he was by now used to when a stray kick from the baby landed against his hand. This was much more intense, and almost surreal.

"I am breathing," Rachel muttered, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. "I've been breathing for twenty-four years; I don't need you to suddenly start telling me how to do it."

Jesse did not respond to her cranky remark, only held her as she breathed through the pain. He'd learned by now that her intensely diva-like behavior was only fueled by the pregnancy. Particularly in the past month, she was almost never actually comfortable, and he knew the changes her body was going through were really taking a toll on her. Instead of feeding the problem with bitchy comments of his own, he'd learned to take her attitude in stride. This wasn't easy for her, and he knew that. When she let her discomfort talk, the best thing to do was to let it roll off his back. He knew she didn't mean any of it, and all the difficulty would be worth it once their daughter was born.

Kurt had questioned whether getting Rachel pregnant had been such a good idea when they first announced it to their friends. Jesse understood the teasing comment, he really did. Rachel was such a drama queen under normal circumstances, and pregnancy had only heightened that tendency. But she wasn't obnoxiously needy or overbearing—not to his mind, anyway. She'd been very down to earth while preparing for this new little person who would soon be joining their lives, and it warmed his heart to see the unflinching way she had wholeheartedly embraced the changes both in herself and in their relationship. She'd had to let her understudy take over for her when she started showing, and he knew that was hard for her. She craved the spotlight just as much as he did. But, though there were tears both before and after her last performance, she had taken the loss in stride. She told him that, though it hurt, she knew they were both gaining so much more than they were giving up.

So he didn't begrudge her her barbed comments now, knowing how much pain she must be in and how nervous she must be feeling. This was all new to her—new to them both—and Rachel Berry did not like being unsure. She liked knowing, not guessing. She had wanted to know the sex of their baby as soon as possible so she could prepare adequately, and she delved into every single book on pregnancy she could find. Hiring a doula and insisting on a midwife-staffed natural-birthing center had only been natural next steps after that.

Not that Jesse minded. Whatever Rachel wanted she was going to get, as far as he was concerned. She was going through so much, and this hadn't even been a planned pregnancy. Their daughter was a surprise—"just one of those things," they told people. That made him even more grateful that she was willing to undertake this huge adventure of parenthood with him.

But he didn't understand why on earth she'd decided not to call his theater once she knew she was in labor. He'd listened to her voicemail while in the taxi on the way over, and she'd sounded very calm and matter-of-fact—just as he'd expected. She cultivated drama in everyday life, but during times of upheaval she really was a rock.

"Don't tense against the pain," the doula said gently, pulling Jesse back to the moment. "Breathe through it, just like we practiced. I know it hurts, doll. You're very brave for wanting to do this without drugs."

Finally Rachel relaxed. She pulled slightly away from her doula and leaned heavily against Jesse. "The show must go on," she said, looking up and meeting his eyes for the first time that night.

"Crazy girl," he said, pressing a kiss to her damp forehead. "Did you really think the show meant more to me than you do?"

Rachel opened her mouth to speak but stopped short, thinking better of her words. Jesse knew exactly what she was choosing not to say—it was the only subject that was ever off limits between them. He was honestly surprised that now, the night of their baby's birth, she was still reminded of all those years ago when he'd chosen a national title over her. They'd discussed and rationalized and apologized to each other over and over again, and the topic had now become closed for discussion. He thought that meant she'd grown tired of throwing it in his face when they fought—as they inevitably did from time to time. But now he wasn't so sure.

"Never again," he said softly. "I was a stupid kid, Rachel. I won't make that sort of mistake again."

"I know you won't." She smiled and cupped his cheek in her warm hand.

"Now that that's all settled," the midwife said, "shall we check how you're doing?"

Rachel nodded and let them help her onto the exercise ball, which the midwife insisted on calling a "birthing ball." It was the same thing they had at Jesse's gym, as far as he was concerned. He helped steady Rachel as the midwife reached a gloved hand under her loose skirt. Rachel's face contracted in a grimace, and he squeezed her shoulder gently. He knew she didn't particularly like this part.

The midwife smiled as she retracted her hand. Her glove was spotted with slightly bloody mucous, and Jesse wrinkled his nose. He was glad Kurt wasn't around to watch this. The poor man would likely faint on sight, and the difficult part hadn't even started yet.

"Seven centimeters," the midwife said, patting Rachel's leg and rising to her feet. "You're progressing nicely. Just keep on with what you're doing, and I'll be back in a half hour or so. If you need anything, don't hesitate to send your doula to fetch me."

"Thanks." Rachel rubbed a hand across her belly. "I can't wait to be able to see my feet again," she said wistfully.

Jesse had to laugh. "You're in the middle of bringing a child into the world, and that's what you have to say?" She was too, too adorable.

The midwife left with a promise to be back soon, and Rachel's doula cleared her throat. "Now that dad's here," she said, "what do you want to do? It will probably be another few hours until anything more happens. I'm afraid this whole process is very much a 'hurry up and wait' deal."

"Maybe watch a movie?" Rachel suggested hopefully. They'd had her special playlist of showtunes on since arriving, but the soft volume of the music wasn't helping to take her mind off the pain as much as she'd like. She sighed. "I wish my dads were here."

Jesse kissed her hair gently. "The last time we talked to them it sounded like Leroy felt the same way Kurt does about all this," he said. "It may be best that they'll be here tomorrow." He paused. "Rach, I know Shelby was on our list of people to call. If she gets here before the baby's born, do you want her here with you?"

Rachel paused. She breathed steadily and leaned further into his comforting bulk. "No," she said finally. "I'd say yes to my dads if they really wanted to watch, but..." She shook her head. "No," she said again. "Not Shelby. Just you."

Jesse rubbed her lower back firmly, just where he knew it often hurt her now. She arched appreciatively into his touch. He'd expected her answer about Shelby, but he'd also wanted to be sure. Though they had definitely made strides toward repairing their relationship, this was an incredibly vulnerable time for Rachel. He'd suspected she would not want her mother around, circumstances being what they were.

"Okay," he said, helping her up from the ball. "You keep walking, and I'll pop a movie in. Which did you want?"

"_Funny Girl_," Rachel said. "I also brought _Yentl_ and _Fiddler on the Roof_, but let's start with Fanny Brice."

He'd known exactly what she would pick, and the thought made him smile. She was perfect. _They_ were perfect And soon they would have their little girl—all three of them together.

* * *

><p>"Please don't," Kurt begged, hiding his face in his hands. "If you try to show me one more diagram, I swear I'll puke."<p>

Blaine dropped the book he was trying to show his partner. "I really don't understand why this is such a big deal," he said. "Birth is natural—arguably the most natural thing in the world, if you really think about it."

"Noted," Kurt said, "but it's something you and I, as gay men, will never have to deal with. So I don't see why I should put myself through the trauma of learning about something that has absolutely no bearing on my life."

"Your best friend is in there right now, giving birth." Blaine indicated the closed door to Rachel's room. One of the pamphlets about the facility said that the birthing rooms were well soundproofed, which seemed like an excellent idea. Occasionally they saw or heard a door open and close as the midwife moved between clients, but other than that the facility was quiet. "Don't you want to know what's going on?"

"Frankly, no," Kurt said. "I've seen enough on TV and in movies. I don't need to see it in real life."

"But I'm sure that Hollywood doesn't tell the complete truth. Aren't you at least a little interested in the difference between on-screen and the real world?"

"Absolutely not." Kurt grimaced. "I saw enough before Jesse got there. As far as I'm concerned, I'd be just as happy if Rachel called us into that room in an hour and told us the stork brought their baby."

Blaine chuckled. "You really are adorable, you know."

A sudden high-pitched noise cut off their conversation, and Kurt's eyes widened as he looked at Rachel's door. He knew that voice. Only Rachel Berry could scream loud enough to break through a soundproofed room.

"Now I'm really curious," Blaine murmured.

"I'm going to pretend I heard nothing." Kurt stared resolutely at the copy of Cosmopolitan in his hands.

Ten minutes later the door opened, and Jesse stuck his head out. "Do you want to see them?" he asked. A grin bigger than any Kurt had ever seen split across his pretty face. "Rachel says you're allowed if you keep your comments about her appearance to yourselves."

"I'm not the one who makes comments," Blaine said, quickly getting up. Kurt followed with a little more trepidation. He wasn't at all sure what he would see on the other side of that door, and he didn't know if he really wanted to find out. But Rachel was his best friend, and he wasn't going to sit in the lobby when Blaine was so intent on joining the party.

Inside, the room was still softly lit. A TV in the corner had been turned on, and Kurt recognized the paused scene from _Fiddler on the Roof_. He didn't know when they'd stopped the movie, but it was telling that Rachel Berry's firstborn had been ushered into the world alongside what was probably the most Jewish musical ever written.

Rachel herself was wrapped in a blue terrycloth robe, resting on a long couch against the back wall. She'd been right about comments—though Kurt would never make them in this circumstance, he had to admit that she'd looked better. Her hair wasn't just damp but absolutely wet with sweat, and it clung to her face and the collar of her robe in messy tendrils. Her skin was still red with exertion, and she looked exhausted. But her eyes were bright as she looked up to greet her friends.

"Gracie," she said, "Gracie, your uncles are here to meet you."

Jesse perched behind her on the arm of the couch, one hand on her shoulder, his eyes riveted to the mess of blankets in her arms. Blaine crossed the room swiftly and knelt next to the couch; Kurt followed a little more slowly. The room smelled maybe a little different, he thought, but he caught neither the sharp metallic hint of blood nor the unpleasant tang of sweat, both of which he'd feared. Coming closer, he peered carefully at what Rachel was holding.

"Can I touch her?" Blaine asked. At Rachel's nod, he reached forward and brushed his hand across a tiny swatch of skin. Kurt sidled a little closer, curiosity taking over. A miniscule face came into view, puffy and red. She wasn't crying, which surprised him. Wasn't that sort of what babies did? She looked like she was trying to look at Blaine, but her eyes weren't quite working right.

"She's looking at me cross-eyed," Blaine said, grinning foolishly. "Hi, funny girl."

"She's minutes old," the doula said from the other side of the room. "That will pass."

She moved her arm jerkily, opening and closing one tiny hand. The serious expression on her face was funny, Kurt had to admit. Her eyes were a cloudy blue, and she had a full head of dark hair.

"She's so small," he breathed.

"Seven pounds, two ounces," Rachel said. "Big enough—believe me."

Blaine chuckled. "We do."

Kurt stepped closer, stopping just behind Blaine. He hadn't been around many babies in his life, and never one so young. She was oddly disproportionate, her head too big for her body. The blanket fell away, and she was wearing the tiniest diaper he'd ever seen in his life, and there was a funny stick thing protruding from her belly button. "What's that?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.

"That's where the umbilical cord was attached," Rachel said, stroking a soft finger across her daughter's belly.

"I cut it," Jesse said proudly. "The clamp there stops it from bleeding. It'll fall off in a few days."

Kurt blanched. That was the kind of squicky information he really didn't want to know.

"You asked," Blaine said, chuckling.

"I did." Kurt shook his head. He really should have known better.

"Just a few more minutes," the doula called, "and then we really have to dress her. We don't want her getting cold, but it's important to have the time to bond skin to skin, even for just a moment."

"We can dress her now," Rachel said, tracing her free hand across her baby's cheek. "It'll make Kurt more comfortable anyway."

"I think dad might like to help with this." The doula came over with the clothes Rachel had picked out weeks ago. Kurt hadn't gone baby shopping with her, and he was amazed at the sheer cuteness of such tiny clothes. There was even a little pink knit hat to keep her head warm. "She may start to cry as we move her around," the doula cautioned. "It's perfectly normal, and she'll calm down again soon."

Kurt watched in fascination as they lay the baby on Rachel's legs and Jesse began slowly dressing her in the tiny clothes. As warned, she did start to cry. "So angry," Jesse murmured, astonishment and pride ghosting across his expressive features. "You've got quite a voice on you, little girl."

To Kurt's ears, she actually didn't sound terribly loud or piercing. But Rachel had warned him that she would get louder as she got older. These first few days were only a preview of what was to come. Kurt was just glad that, though they lived in the same building, they weren't close enough for him to hear the baby cry. If they lived next door, he didn't know what he'd do.

When the baby was dressed, Jesse slid his hands carefully under her and lifted her up. She'd looked small even in Rachel's arms, but Jesse's bulk absolutely swallowed her. He could easily hold her cupped in his hands if he wanted, Kurt thought. Like an Anne Geddes photograph. She quieted after a moment, and even Kurt had to agree that the sight of Jesse holding his newborn daughter took his breath away. St. James was a beautiful man under normal circumstances, but the expression of devotion on his face transcended beauty. Jesse sat on the floor next to Rachel, leaning back against the couch. She squeezed his shoulder, her eyes locked on the baby in his arms.

"We made this," Jesse breathed.

She nodded, her smile bright despite her exhaustion. "We did quite well, if I do say so myself."

Kurt found Blaine's hand and squeezed it tight. This was an intensely private moment between Jesse and Rachel, and if they weren't all such good friends he'd feel a little uncomfortable witnessing it. But the four of them were almost incestuously close, and he could only be happy for his friends as his trepidation about the whole night melted away. Rachel had successfully given birth, and Jesse had arrived in plenty of time—thanks to his and Blaine's intervention. The baby was here and healthy, Rachel's dads were arriving later that day, and everything seemed to have turned out well.

"You never did read those pamphlets, did you?" the doula asked, nudging Kurt with a sly smile.

"God, no." He hid his face in his hands. "Seeing the baby is as close as I'm ever getting to knowing what really goes on in this room."

"You may change your mind one of these days," she said archly. "What if you want one of your own someday? Your young man seems quite taken with the baby."

Kurt turned his head, and his eyes widened as he saw Blaine sitting next to Jesse, Judy Grace held carefully in his arms. Rachel didn't seem at all territorial or upset about her friend holding her newborn—she still had a hand on Jesse's shoulder and she was smiling at something he'd just said even as she watched Blaine.

"She's beautiful, you guys," Blaine said. "Congratulations."

"Rachel did all the hard work." Jesse half-turned and rubbed her knee through the terrycloth robe.

"That's not entirely true," she said, squeezing his hand before leaning back wearily against the arm of the couch. "You put up with me for nine months. I think that definitely counts for something."

"When is she starting dance classes?" Blaine teased.

"We'll give her a month or two to get her bearings," Jesse said, and Kurt couldn't quite tell if he was kidding or not. "Then the world better watch out."

"Accountant," Kurt said. He'd been teasing them mercilessly that their daughter would shun show business and pick the most straight-laced career possible.

Rachel glanced at him, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Come here, Kurt." She beckoned him closer.

"No hitting in front of the baby," he said uneasily as he stepped closer to the couch.

"Oh, please. I haven't slapped anyone since high school." She beckoned again, and Kurt knelt next to Blaine. Rachel nodded to the man currently holding her daughter, and Blaine grinned as he held out his arms, pushing the baby firmly toward Kurt.

"No no no-" Kurt's protests were cut short as Judy Grace was thrust upon him, Blaine supporting her tiny body while Jesse showed him how to hold his arms. He grit his teeth but held firm, and as he looked down at the serious little face resting against his arm, something inside him shifted.

Blaine was right—she was absolutely beautiful. So small, so new. The last time he saw Rachel, Gracie was still inside her. But now she was in his arms, a real little person. A wide smile broke across his face as he stared at her. "Don't worry, Judy Grace," he said softly. "When mommy and daddy get to be too much for you, you can always come hide with me and Uncle Blaine."

Rachel laughed. "Now that you've made your peace, give me my baby back. You can go on home and get some sleep—we'll call you when we're back at the building."

Kurt handed Gracie off to Rachel and gave his best friend a kiss on the cheek before straightening. "We're going shopping for baby clothes as soon as you're ready," he said, surprised to feel a trickle of wetness on his cheek. He brushed the tear away, not even really sure why he was crying. Blaine squeezed his hand. "I love you, Rachel."

"Right back at you," she said, smiling at her two best friends. "See you at home."

Kurt let Blaine lead him from the room, and he exhaled shakily. "We're still not having one," he said as they emerged into the rainy New York night. "But she's beautiful."

"She is," Blaine said, a small smile stealing across his face as they waited for a cab. "And you never know. Someday you might be more open to the idea."

Kurt didn't honestly know if he ever would, but holding Rachel's daughter, even for just a moment, had been an eye-opening experience. He didn't regret a moment of his time with Blaine, but the rapt look on Jesse's face when he held his daughter was amazing. Maybe, Kurt thought as he held Blaine's hand and the sounds of the city enveloped them. Maybe someday.

* * *

><p><em>Humor and babies...this is about as un-angsty as I can get, so I hope y'all liked it! I actually wrote a KurtRachel friendship story called "Aftermath" a while back; you can find the link on my profile page. I've been working on the second chapter, which was supposed to be a future piece where Rachel agrees to surrogate for Kurt and Blaine. But now that this is up, I don't know if I'm going to continue working on that one...it just seems almost like a re-visitation of the same material. What do y'all think?_


	5. Throwdown

_I know, I know. I'm supposed to be updating Scale the Glass Mountain, but this just popped into my head and wouldn't disappear. It takes place during "Throwdown," assuming that Rachel and Jesse were already secretly dating at the time. This is not one of my favorite episodes, and I have now rescued it, lol!_

_Credit where credit is due: Inspiration for Jesse's texts came from a scene in a BBC contemporary remake of Sherlock Holmes. If you haven't seen them yet (the BBC made three last year), they're currently available on Netflix Instant, and they're amazing! Benedict Cumberbatch (Best. British. Name. EVER.) plays Sherlock, and he's absolutely delicious._

* * *

><p><strong>Enter the Fray<strong>

Quinn was looking at her strangely again. Rachel shuddered lightly—too lightly for the bright spotlights to pick up on, but Finn felt it and tightened his arm around her. She felt all kinds of awkward in this moment, and she hated it. Quinn had already made it abundantly clear that she did not want to end up just "swaying like a prop" in the background, and Rachel was also fully aware that the cheerleader considered her a rival for Finn's affections.

Not that there hadn't been truth to that, once upon a time. Rachel bit back a sigh as she tuned out Mr. Schue's gentle hints to Finn about staying in key. They'd been through the number four times already today, and though it had previously been one of her favorite contemporary pop songs, she was beginning to sour toward it. Quinn's bad attitude wasn't the only problem, but it was the biggest.

Rachel honestly didn't know what to do about the difficult triangle between herself, Finn, and Quinn. Not that it was really a triangle anymore, but she was terrified of telling anyone that. Quinn would flat-out not believe her if she tried to explain that she was no longer crushing on Finn, and her explanation that she'd found another guy—a far better one—would be met with suspicion on all sides. She was caught in a no-win situation, and so she felt compelled to just swallow her words—something she wasn't terribly proficient at—and let Quinn bully and verbally abuse her, like always.

"Again," Mr. Schue said, bringing her mind back to the present. "From the top."

Rachel could almost feel Quinn's anger radiating from her, and idly she wondered if that sort of territorial rage was good for the baby. She seriously would have to have a chat with Quinn at some point about the very real possibility that the kid would end up a professional wrestler—or worse, a hockey player—after being constantly bathed in all that prenatal fury. She wasn't scared of Quinn, per se. About most topics, she'd happily tell the head cheerleader exactly what she thought. It was only when Finn was thrown into the mix that things got complicated.

As she opened her mouth and the first bars of "No Air" left her lips, Rachel only felt the silent anger from Quinn intensify. Really, this was getting both tiring and ridiculous. If the promise of perhaps performing this song at Sectionals wasn't dangling so enticingly in front of her, Rachel thought she'd almost rather just let Quinn have the damn solo. If it had been just a normal weekly assignment, she probably would have, despite her intense need for the spotlight. But, circumstances being what they were, she just couldn't do it. She couldn't give up the chance at a Sectionals solo—not even with the red-hot reality of Quinn Fabray's fury literally breathing down her back.

Another faint tremor whispered down Rachel's spine, and she blanched inwardly as she felt Finn's arm tighten yet again. This was supposed to feel good, she thought furiously. Getting to duet in front of back-up vocalists should be a dream come true for her. And Finn really wasn't a bad duet partner. He was cute in a puppy-dog kind of way, and he tried hard. His voice was better than Artie's, and that was why she'd embraced his choice to join New Directions with open arms. Kurt was the better performer, but he just wasn't the right material to partner with her as the male lead of their group. Finn's sudden appearance in the club had been like a jolt of fresh air—he was good looking and popular, and he was actually a lot nicer than she'd previously assumed. The way he rescued Artie from that portable toilet and then pulled them all together as a group with "Don't Stop Believing" had really inspired her.

And for a while, it had looked like he was at least a little into her. Rachel hadn't minded in the least, not even after she'd learned that he and Quinn were an item. High school relationships began and ended so frequently that the "taken" status of any McKinley student was never given much serious attention from anybody. So she'd gone ahead with what, at the time, had seemed like innocent flirting, never really thinking about the consequences. She wouldn't have minded at all if he'd broken up with Quinn to date her, but she realized that it was only in her fantasies that such a scenario would ever take place. Despite how nice he was in private, he was still the quarterback of the football team and he had a reputation to maintain. Having her on his arm would do nothing for his street cred. Still, she'd flirted with him, pushing him, trying to see just how far she could take the obvious chemistry between them. It had seemed harmless enough to her—he would make his choice between her and Quinn eventually, and that would be the end of it.

Until that day not too long ago when they'd sat together in this very auditorium drinking virgin cosmos, and he'd kissed her. Rachel balled a tight fist with one hand, her short nails biting into the soft flesh of her palm. He'd kissed her, and it had been an erotic, sensual experience far beyond anything she'd ever been party to up to that point. Then he'd fled. As she sat alone amid the accoutrements of the indoor picnic she'd set up, reality had crashed down on her. This wasn't right. He belonged to someone else, and had made no motion toward fixing that problem. Innocent flirting had gone way too far with that kiss.

Nonetheless, she found herself imagining excuses for him in her head for weeks afterward. And even after he'd deceived her about Quinn's pregnancy—manipulating her to return to glee club for his own benefit and playing her for a fool in the process—she'd taken it. Sure, she'd yelled at him. Stomped her foot and thrown a tantrum every bit as epic as the silent one Quinn was now throwing behind them. But in the end, she'd forgiven him. Helped him. Returned to the club just as he'd requested. And Rachel knew why—she wasn't stupid. She'd done it because he was cute and popular, and she liked him.

But despite Quinn's paranoid assumptions, it didn't have to do with any lasting infatuation on Rachel's part. She'd gone through that faze and now it was over. Finn had opened her eyes to who he truly was—a nice boy, yes, but one incapable of handling the kind of high-maintenance girl she knew she could be. She enjoyed partnering with him in glee club because he was the closest she had to a male equal. If Mercedes had been a boy, Rachel suspected both Mr. Schue and herself would have felt no need to cajole Finn to stick with the club. But Mercedes was no boy, and Rachel needed a male lead. Puck was arguably both a better singer and dancer than Finn, but his bad attitude and unwillingness to devote himself fully to the music made him an undesirable alternative.

Of course, there was one boy Rachel never minded singing with—never minded sharing the spotlight with. But she couldn't have him full time; he didn't go to McKinley, and they'd already promised not to pressure each other into quitting their respective show choirs. It was a moot point, but Rachel supposed she was still allowed to wish.

Especially now, as Mr. Schue's bland choreography had her stepping into the circle of Finn's arms yet again. She didn't particularly mind the contact and would gladly have thrown herself wholeheartedly into the performance, but every time Finn touched her—whether it was strictly necessary or not—she could feel the red-hot burn of Quinn's ire rise even higher. The pregnant cheerleader was going to burst soon; Rachel felt sure of it. And she was also sure that the resulting tantrum would be directed squarely at her, no matter how unjust the blame would be.

Finn's hand tightened on her arm again. Rachel felt the hidden tremor in her body once more—his touch wasn't painful, but he wasn't paying attention to anything around him. He thought he was comforting her covertly, but everyone could see what he was doing and it was actually fueling her discomfort. Finn's obvious touches were making Quinn furious, and that anger was what made Rachel so uncomfortable. She was fine dancing with Finn, she really was. Under normal circumstances. But he thought he was being suave, when the truth was that Rachel had had a taste of real charm and Finn just didn't have the knack for it.

Finally Mr. Schue called a halt to rehearsal, promising they would pick back up the next day. He bent his head to add something to his notes and Finn turned to Rachel. "You okay?" he asked, rubbing a hand up and down her arm. "I thought you liked this song, but you seem really tense."

"I'm fine," she said tightly, stepping away from his hand.

Her phone abruptly buzzed in her skirt pocket, and Rachel thanked the heavens for the distraction. She pulled it free and read the new text. It was just one word: _Liar_.

With great effort, she managed not to let the heat spreading through her body touch her face. She was a consummate actress, and she didn't need to blush on stage. She knew better than that.

"Are you cold or something? You kept shivering."

Rachel grit her teeth. If Quinn weren't here glaring daggers at her back, listening to every word her boyfriend said, she'd probably be flattered by Finn's concern. Then again, if Quinn weren't here, the concern wouldn't be necessary in the first place. "I'm fine," she said again, willing the words to be true. Even when Finn had been just another bullying jock to her, he'd never bothered her as much as Quinn. Bullying from the boys wasn't as coldly calculating or personal. A slushie to the face or eggs on the side of her house were nothing compared to the way Quinn and the other popular girls could cut so deeply with just a few well-placed words. Rachel was strong and had withstood a lot of torment from the cheerleaders, but now with Quinn in glee club, things were almost worse. They shared a bond—a tenuous, uncomfortable bond—and Rachel knew Quinn hated it. Quinn was determined that Rachel would never steal Finn away from her, and she felt threatened. That made her so much more dangerous now.

"You didn't seem fine," Finn said, his brow furrowed as he tried to puzzle out her words. "Is this one of those girl things where you say one thing but mean another?"

"I don't do that," Rachel snapped. She still had her phone clasped in her hand, and it buzzed again. Almost impatiently, she flipped it open.

_That's very true_.

Rachel fought back another blush. He was bold; she had to give him that. His brazenness warmed something within her.

"Besides," she said, returning her attention to Finn, "I have nothing to hide."

Another buzz. _Liar._

"I'm just...sad about how Sue's splitting up the club." She ducked her head, knowing her tone hadn't been very believable. But if he couldn't see her eyes, Finn would probably accept what she was saying. He wasn't attuned to her the way her texter was, after all.

Another incoming text. _Good save. Now get rid of him._

Rachel resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She'd been trying to get rid of Finn since rehearsal ended. "I think I want to go see how Mercedes and Kurt are doing," she said, stepping away from his grip on her arm.

"Oh." Finn still looked puzzled. "Okay. Are they the ones who keep texting you?"

"Uh-huh." Buzz. _Liar._

Finn didn't seem to catch the false note in her voice. "See you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Rachel promised before moving quickly into the wings. She watched from the shadows behind a fold of curtain as Quinn marched up and grabbed Finn's hand, pulling him forcefully from the stage. Theaters were meant to project sound, and the acoustics in this one were no different—she could hear the cheerleader's muttered diatribe about her, and she shifted uncomfortably as she saw Puck and Brittany laugh as they, too, headed for the exit.

A warm hand closed over her shoulder and Rachel shifted slightly, leaning back against the firm chest behind her. "You're fearless," she murmured, pitching her voice just loud enough that it carried only to one set of ears. Quinn didn't have the years of theatrical experience to know how to talk quietly in an auditorium, but Rachel did.

So did the boy behind her. "Of course," he said lightly, and she knew without looking that his trademark cocky grin was planted across his pretty mouth. "What on earth do you think I have to be afraid of?"

"Being found?"

He snorted and dropped his hand from her shoulder, wrapping his arms firmly around her waist. "I can't wait to be found," he said, burying his nose near her throat. He exhaled a warm breath against her skin and Rachel felt a delicious shiver run up her spine. This was an entirely different sensation than the uncomfortable tremors she hadn't been able to repress on stage, and she relished the change. "I can't wait until the day you let me put the Jolly Green Giant and Barbie in their proper place."

"Don't tempt me, Jesse," she whispered. The thought of letting him take Quinn down a peg was indeed tempting right now, but she couldn't quite make herself agree to it. She wasn't the vindictive type, she told herself firmly.

"I plan on tempting you a great deal, and not just about that." He bit softly at her neck, and Rachel stifled an abrupt sound as he sucked leisurely on her skin.

"You'll leave a mark," she protested, squirming in his arms.

"That's the plan," he whispered, but he stopped the gentle suction. He kissed the damp spot he'd left, then shifted his hands, rubbing a palm softly across her flat belly. "You really did look uncomfortable up there. And, unlike Hudson, I know why."

Rachel closed her eyes, surrendering to the sound of his voice. It enveloped her in velvet warmth as she stood swathed in shadow in the wings of her school's auditorium. She didn't know how he, with just one touch, was able to soothe the discomfort of Finn's clumsy hands and Quinn's fury. If he ever admitted to her that he could read minds, she wouldn't be at all surprised.

He found her hand and tugged gently, turning her in the circle of his other arm. She tipped her face toward his, eager for a kiss. Even in shadow he was beautiful, she thought, examining the lines of his face as he gazed just as intently back at her. Never had she felt someone's whole attention so acutely as she felt Jesse's. When he was with her, she was all he thought about. She was the most important thing in his world in that moment, and it was a heady feeling. She felt almost like flying though he pinned her to the spot with just one glance from his clear blue eyes.

"I'm a performer," Jesse said, his voice soft in volume but firm in tone. "I know how these things work, and I get that you have to dance with him. I'll never be jealous about something like that. But I could see how uncomfortable it made you, and I hate it."

Rachel glanced out into the auditorium, where Mr. Schue was still sitting in the director's seat and writing notes. She took Jesse's hand and tugged him toward the green room.

"Not a fan of an audience?" he said, his trademark smirk reappearing. "And here I thought it might turn you on."

"You're an ass, Jesse St. James," she said, closing and locking the door firmly behind them. The green room was deserted, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Now no one could hear them talk or stumble on their illicit meeting.

"I'm really not." He sat on the tired plaid couch and pulled her down next to him. "I'm quite the gentleman, in fact. But you seem to bring out the caveman in me."

Rachel let him pull her close, snuggling into the warmth of his black-clad side. She wasn't really upset with him—weeks of dating had shown her exactly who and what he was, and she accepted each facet of his complicated personality. He was beautiful to her, and matched her so well. "You're just cranky because I won't have sex with you yet," she teased.

"Have you forgotten who you're talking to?" He tipped her chin up, giving her a dazzling smile. "I told you before—I love a challenge." He dropped a kiss on her nose before releasing his hold on her chin and settling her more firmly in his arms. His voice softened, and he pressed his forehead against hers. "But all teasing aside, I know how uncomfortable you were up there. What can I do to make you feel better?"

"You're already doing it."

"Really?" He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I didn't think you were that easy."

"I'm not in the least," she said, ignoring the double entendre.

"But all you want is to be held?" He tugged gently on a lock of her hair. "Do you want a chance to talk about it?" He paused. "Or sing about it?"

Rachel considered his offer. Not the singing—even though they were safely locked in the green room, their voices were too powerful for her to feel comfortable joining him for a duet here and now. Someone might overhear, and then there would be questions. But Finn had never asked her if she wanted to talk about anything, and here Jesse was, voicing the question as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Finn wasn't really the one making me uncomfortable," she admitted. "I don't have a problem singing or dancing with him—it's part of being a performer, after all. Being professional." She took a slow breath, wondering how much to divulge to Jesse. He had a temper, and she didn't want to rile it. He'd never been angry at her, but she'd seen that temper directed at others and she wasn't at all interested in starting a possible altercation between Jesse and Quinn. Not right now—not when she felt so comfortable right here in the circle of his arms, despite the fact that he was the competition infiltrating her school's rehearsal space. The slight chance of being caught did in fact send a prickle of excitement through her, despite her refusal to admit it.

"It was the cheerleader," Jesse said before she could make up her mind. "The one swaying in the back and looking like she wanted to murder you."

Rachel nodded. "She's Finn's girlfriend," she admitted, "and she's pregnant."

Jesse let out a low whistle. "Your team seriously is a walking soap opera. You know that, right?"

"This is serious, Jesse!"

"I know it is." He tightened his arms around her. "I can see it in your face. You carry tension here," he said, tracing his fingers across the line of her jaw. Instantly her skin lit with pleasure, and she closed her eyes, leaning into the soft touch.

"Don't you have similar problems in Vocal Adrenaline?" she murmured, her eyes riveted to the curve of his lower lip as he spoke. She wanted him to kiss her...

"Shelby would kick a pregnant girl off the team and castrate the guy who knocked her up," Jesse said succinctly. "She also doesn't like us dating each other—says we ought to feel like it's incest." He made a face. "Doesn't stop anybody, though."

"You're not dating someone on your team," Rachel reminded him with a smile.

His answering smile was bright, and it soothed away a great deal of the lingering discomfort inside her. "No," he agreed, "I'm not. I've found something infinitely better."

"So crossing enemy lines is better than incest?"

"Always."

Finally he lowered his head, which was what Rachel had been waiting for almost since his first text. His mouth brushed softly against hers, a whisper of a touch, and a quiver of excitement bled down her spine. She pressed closer, taking his upper lip between hers and nibbling at it until she felt the swift exhalation of breath that meant he was surrendering control, and he deepened the kiss.

Finn had been her best kiss and most erotic encounter before meeting Jesse, but her current boyfriend's skills far surpassed any she had been party to before. He stole her breath, demanding her complete attention. His mouth was delicious—spearmint gum and the taste of boy blended together perfectly. He had soft pink lips, almost a little girlish, though she would never, ever tell him so. There was nothing feminine about the rest of him—candid blue eyes, strong forehead and nicely-cut jawline. His trademark smirk screamed sex—he was the most attractive guy Rachel had ever met, and he was hers. The heady excitement of knowing this, of being with him, never got old. She shivered at the sweep of his tongue across hers, wanting more but knowing this was neither the time nor the place. Locked door notwithstanding, they were still at school.

"I love when you kiss me," she whispered when he finally released her mouth.

"Likewise." He kissed her again, softly, before pulling away to meet her eyes. "But you weren't done talking." A crooked smile broke across his expressive face. "You were telling me how the cheerleader's all jealous that her boyfriend was singing with you."

Rachel nodded, biting her lip a little as some of the uncomfortable feelings about Quinn resurfaced. "I don't know what to do anymore," she admitted. "It just keeps getting worse. And now that Coach Sylvester has split us up, Quinn seems even angrier."

"I wondered why there were so few of you up there." He rubbed her shoulder. "It's the law of numbers—you can't hide in a group of five."

"I don't want to hide," Rachel said. "I've never been a hider. I just don't want to fight with Quinn, especially since her paranoia is completely ungrounded."

"May I once again table the idea of me setting her straight?"

Rachel smiled and cupped his cheek in her hand, brushing her thumb against the ever-so-slightly scratchy surface where he shaved. "It's a very sweet offer," she said, "but I want to handle this on my own."

"You know I worry about you."

"I can see that." She smiled, her heart full of tenderness for this incredibly sweet boy who somehow managed to love her despite her difficult and demanding nature. She was all the more grateful for him because she knew perfectly well that she wasn't always easy to get along with. Her fathers had raised her to be a winner, not a team player. Even if she wanted to, she didn't know if it was possible to be both.

But Jesse understood. He understood, and he didn't demand that she change, or expect her to be anything but what she was. She'd never—_never_-had a supportive peer before, and it was a heady new experience. Even if he were a friend and nothing more, this relationship would be new to her on those grounds alone.

She looked up at him and smiled, tracing the tendons in his hands as they held her waist. "You're an amazing person, Jesse."

"So are you. It's why we fit so well together." He skimmed the waistband of her plaid skirt with his fingertips, then tugged on her baby blue blouse, untucking it. She giggled, letting him trace the line of exposed skin as he lowered his head once more to kiss her.

No, she thought, Finn could never compare to this. No one could. She kissed him again, relishing the contact as his warm palms slid under her shirt, resting firmly against her back. He didn't attempt to grope her or do anything inappropriate, but she reveled in the feeling of warm skin on skin. Jesse had already made it abundantly clear that he fully intended to have sex with her, but once his point was made he didn't push, never demanding more than she was willing to give. If she tensed up or moved away from a more forward touch, he always backed off. There was no doubt in her mind that Jesse would be her first, and probably soon. The fact that he was leaving that decision up to her only made her more willing to consider giving him what she knew he wanted. Not right now—certainly not today. But sooner rather than later.

"I know we said we wouldn't pressure each other," Jesse said, breaking the kiss only to pin her to her spot with his intense blue gaze, "but if you joined Vocal Adrenaline, you wouldn't have these problems. People would respect you, Rachel." His eyes traveled across her face, solemn and consuming. "All those awful names the cheerleaders call you—and don't you dare tell me they don't, because I've heard some of them. You wouldn't have to deal with any of that. I get that you don't want to switch schools, but I need you to understand that this isn't the way it is everywhere...and it isn't the way it has to be for you. You have options."

Rachel smiled. "I know," she said gently, "and I appreciate your concern. Really, I do. But I want to stay at McKinley. I was the one who got the old glee director, Sandy Ryerson, fired, so I guess I feel kind of responsible for New Directions. I need to see this through, at least for now. Life isn't unbearable."

"Yet."

The word was muttered under Jesse's breath, but Rachel heard it anyway. She didn't fault him for it, either. His questions were the same ones that plagued her own mind when she couldn't sleep at night. How much longer was she willing to do this, especially now that Sue had split up the club and was seriously gunning for it to self-destruct? She took a lot of responsibility on herself, but that didn't mean it wasn't necessary. Mr. Schuester needed her talent if this club was going to survive.

But right now, in this moment, she was alone with her boyfriend—something that didn't happen terribly often. Between rehearsal schedules, homework, and her curfew, they didn't have a lot of free time to spend together. Ms. Corcoran was out sick for the week, though, and trusted absolutely no one else to coach her choir while she was gone, so Jesse had his afternoons free to skulk around McKinley.

Rachel smiled and tugged on his hand. "Mr. Schue's got to be back in his office by now," she said. "Let's get out of here while the coast is clear."

"Homework and frozen yogurt at your place?"

Rachel snorted. "Since when have we ever managed to get any studying done at either of our houses?"

Jesse levered himself off the couch and squeezed her hand. "We do plenty of studying. It just has nothing to do with books." His smile was wide and bright as he followed her out of the green room.

* * *

><p>Will Schuester was a busy man. He admitted to himself, as he stepped out of his office and closed the door behind him, that it was hard keeping everything he had to do straight in his mind. Today, for instance, he was rushing to a faculty meeting now that glee club practice was over and he'd had a little time in his office to sort through his papers for tomorrow.<p>

And on top of his packed schedule, of course, there were other considerations. He had Terri to think of—and she was a full-time job in and of herself. Remembering what she did and did not like—her preferences in all things—was exhausting. He admitted that he hadn't been doing quite so well with her as of late. Glee club seemed to be taking up all of his attention, pushing everything else aside. And yet, even so, he was unsure if he'd ever be fully on top of the fluctuating mass of drama and emotions that was his club. Even with just twelve members—far fewer than the number of kids in any of his Spanish classes—there was just too much intrigue going on. He was fully aware that Quinn had joined the club, and bullied her two Cheerio friends into doing the same, just to keep her eye on Finn and Rachel. After their assembly display of Salt n' Pepa and the riot it caused, he could hardly blame her. He could see definite parallels between his own life and Finn's, in fact. Terri would react the same way—possibly worse—if she thought another woman was trying to get Will's attention. He shuddered lightly, thinking of the pretty blond cheerleader with the bad attitude. She reminded him so strongly of his wife, both when Terri was younger and still now. Finn was in for a bumpy ride if he chose to stay with her long-term...and an even bumpier one if he chose to break up with her.

But Rachel really wasn't helping things, and Will didn't know what to do about it. It wasn't his place as a teacher to give orders about students' personal lives. He walked a fine line with the glee club, trying to keep track of the shifting web of allegiances and rivalries within the group so he could keep them working together as effectively as possible. He needed to know, for instance, whether Puckerman or Finn was the ringleader of the football players in any given week. Knowing that, he would know which kid to lean on when he needed them to back him. Sometimes it seemed like Finn, the quarterback and therefore the obvious choice, was their leader. But other times he wasn't so sure. Puck was difficult, and it didn't always seem like he actually wanted to be in the club, but he stuck by his decisions once made. Day to day, Will admitted that he couldn't always tell which boy the other two football players would choose to follow.

The three cheerleaders stuck together regardless, and Quinn was their obvious leader. Santana was second, and Brittany seemed perfectly happy to do whatever the other two expected of her. Though Will thought he'd seen her hanging out with Tina and Kurt before, which gave him a little hope for his team. If the clear divisions within the group could be breached, kids mixing and learning that none of them were really so different after all, he considered their group a success. So what if they never won a competition? They'd have learned an invaluable lesson, and wasn't that the point of extracurricular activities in the first place?

Except, if they didn't place at Regionals, Figgins was going to disband the club. And in order to even get to Regionals, they had to win at Sectionals first. Will exhaled, letting out a deep sigh of frustration. They had a long road to travel, and he wasn't at all sure what the end result would be.

He _could_ see the end result, though, of splitting the kids up as Sue had. Not only was she trying to create yet more divisions between his already highly-stratified kids, but she was doing it with calculated precision. She'd left him with a group of five, three of whom were Finn, Quinn, and Rachel. That was just asking for trouble. He'd known it even before handing them the sheet music for their first song. Finn as male lead was a no-brainer—while Puck certainly had talent, Will didn't want to reward his bad attitude with a solo. But that left him in something of a quandary. There would be hell to pay no matter which of the two competing girls he gave the female solo to, so he'd chosen the better singer. Rachel was well-matched with Finn. She was better than him, and she pushed him to work harder because of it. She wouldn't let him slack the way Quinn might; she cared too much about this club and their chances of winning.

Still, Will knew he was asking for trouble from Quinn by passing her over, and he'd certainly received it. The looks she was throwing toward Rachel were absolutely murderous. He was quite sure they didn't bother his club's resident diva—nothing seemed to bother Rachel Berry. She was ridiculously oblivious to everything around her. Nobody in the club—with the possible exception of Finn—really liked her, but he doubted she knew that. He doubted she even noticed all the glares and muttered remarks Quinn had been indulging in all through practice.

Thinking about Rachel made Will's head hurt. She was horribly talented, but she also caused more problems than she solved. He'd seen the moment Finn first joined the club that Rachel set her sights on the tall boy. It was like...like watching a hunter zeroing in on his prey. And, oblivious as always, she'd continued in this foolish pursuit even after Quinn arrived on the scene, jealous and angry as a wet cat. Will grimaced. He suspected he was only adding fuel to the fire by giving Rachel that duet with Finn, but what else was he supposed to do? He couldn't just ignore the fact that she was the best performer in the group—not if they wanted to win at Sectionals.

Maybe he should talk to her? Gently—no hard feelings. Try to explain that Finn wasn't available and she needed to start acting like more of a team player. Subtle did not work well with Rachel Berry, so he'd have to be direct. Maybe he could—

A very familiar laugh and the sound of running feet cut short Will's musings, and he stopped short at the intersection of two hallways. Glancing cautiously around the corner, he saw a flash of long dark hair as Rachel ran by, then heard a playful squeal as the black-clad form behind her caught her around her waist. They spun around, both laughing, and collapsed against a bank of lockers. The boy didn't release her—instead he pulled her closer, his arms locking firmly around her waist.

"I win," Rachel said, still laughing as she caught her breath. The words echoed slightly in the deserted hall.

"You cheated." The boy's voice was soft and playful, but there was a firmness behind it that spoke of extreme confidence. Will studied the kid from his spot around the corner, hoping he'd go unnoticed.

The boy wasn't as tall as Finn—but then, no one in this school was. He was dressed head to toe in black, and yet he was clearly neither goth nor emo. Will frowned, wondering exactly what was going on here. Rachel wanted Finn, didn't she? She'd been prowling after him since he joined the glee club. So who was this boy? He had to admit that the kid was good-looking—striking, really. He smiled at Rachel, and his whole face lit. His broad smile exuded warmth, as if it was made for the express purpose of drawing people close. This was a kid people would flock to. Will had no doubt that he'd never seen the boy before—he would have remembered a face like that. He didn't know all the students at McKinley by any stretch of the imagination, but he knew he'd never seen this particular face walking down the halls before.

"How did I cheat?" Rachel planted her hands on her hips, but even Will could tell that she wasn't serious.

"You know this place, and I don't. Gives you unfair advantage." The unknown boy's voice was lilting and sweet. It wasn't always possible to tell from a speaking voice, but Will suspected this kid might be able to sing. He certainly knew how to use his lungs—how to project, and work the muscles of his throat and diaphragm in tandem to create a voice people would listen to.

And if Rachel knew this boy as well as it looked like she did, and he could sing as Will suspected he could, what the hell was going on? Where would Rachel have possibly met him, if he wasn't a student at McKinley?

Or maybe he was a new student? That possibility was entirely more palatable than any other to Will. If this boy were new, it would explain why Will didn't recognize him. He admitted that he didn't keep tabs on things outside glee club as much as he should. Hell, even inside glee club he knew he didn't keep up. Wasn't that what he was just lamenting about? So maybe the kid was new. And, if so, Rachel ought to be convincing him to join glee club. Even if the boy couldn't sing—as Mike Chang could not—at least it looked like he'd take Rachel's attention off of Finn and solve that little problem.

"I had a bad rehearsal," Rachel said, dropping her hands from her hips and stepping more fully into the circle of the boy's arms. "So it's my prerogative to exploit homefield advantage."

Bad rehearsal? Will frowned. Rachel had been her usual top-notch self in rehearsal, and Finn had actually sounded pretty good. Rachel didn't care—probably didn't even notice—what other people thought or said about her, so what could she possibly have to be upset about?

"Don't remind me." All hints of playfulness dropped from the boy's voice, and it lost its lilting quality. It firmed, a note of granite forming at its core. "I still think you should let me set those idiots straight."

"I appreciate the offer, Jesse, but I still want to handle this on my own."

"I'm not going to just sit idly by forever. You do realize that, right?"

Rachel nodded. From this angle Will couldn't see her face, but he saw her entire body relax as the boy—Jesse—slid a hand under the long fall of her hair, cupping the back of her neck and pulling her close.

"I just don't understand what you're afraid of, Rach."

She shifted in his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder. The way they stood spoke of familiarity, and Will felt his hope that this boy might be a new student slowly fade. "I'm afraid no one will believe me if I tell them about you."

"Because?"

"Because they all hate me. Because they don't think I could ever be good enough to date someone who wasn't Jacob ben Israel." Rachel made a face as she said the name, and Will couldn't blame her. He _did_ know Jacob, the school's resident rumormonger. The kid was greasy and creepy—it was no wonder the jocks were always tossing him into dumpsters.

"If you'd let me back you up, that problem would be solved."

"And once they figure out who you are, it will be ten times worse." Rachel tipped her head up to look at him, and she touched the side of his face with her fingertips. It was such a tender gesture—Will hadn't expected something like that from her. "I appreciate your concern, but this is something I have to do on my own." She kissed the corner of his mouth gently, and he turned his head for a real kiss.

Will looked away, feeling a little creepy himself. He hadn't intended to spy on a teenage PDA—hadn't intended to spy at all, actually—but this one overheard conversation was showing him a glimpse of how little he really knew about his club and its members. Rachel was hiding a boy from them—deliberately, it sounded like. But why? She said it had to do with who he was. But Will couldn't think of anyone Rachel could possibly want to date who his team would disapprove of.

And what was all this about Rachel suddenly knowing what her teammates thought of her? She'd never given any indication before that she either knew or cared.

The resumption of voices pulled Will's attention back to the pair in the hallway. He watched as Jesse bumped his forehead softly against Rachel's, a knowing smile on his face. "You win," he said. "For now."

"And how long is that, exactly?"

"Until I can't sit idly by and watch you get mistreated anymore."

"Can't you be a little more definite?"

Jesse looked as if he were considering before he answered. "Kiss me again," he said, his hands closing around her waist.

Rachel laughed, but she complied. One hand came up to cup his cheek, and she kissed him tenderly. Will was honestly surprised by the emotion behind the gesture. Not that he thought high school kids were incapable of truly meaningful relationships, but Rachel had never really struck him as a very tender sort of girl. She went after things—including boys—because she thought they would enhance her reputation or further her ambition. Yet here she was, touching this boy as gently and passionately as Will had ever seen a lover touch another. He couldn't see her face, but every line in her body spoke of a deep attachment that went beyond the typical high school crush. Hell—Will didn't think Terri had ever looked at him the way Rachel was now looking at this unknown Jesse.

"Nope," the boy said after a moment, a note of false regret just masking the laughter in his voice. "Sorry—still can't give you a more definite answer."

Rachel's hands found her hips again. "Then why did you ask for that kiss?"

"Because," Jesse said, tightening his arms and drawing her flush against his body, "I will always—_always—_want you to kiss me." His smile broke free, dawning strong and beautiful over his expressive face. "And touch me. And hold me."

"You don't need an excuse for that, Jesse." Rachel's arms fell away from her hips and she raised them to slip around his shoulders.

"That's what I like to hear." Jesse held her close, and as she tucked herself against him in a hug, her head coming to rest in the crook of his shoulder, Jesse's eyes lifted and locked, very deliberately, on Will's.

Will froze. Time stood still for a long moment as he and Jesse stared at each other across the empty hallway. The boy's face, so tender and open just a moment ago, was now firmly closed. There was a cold challenge to his blue stare, though Will didn't quite know what to make of it. How long had the boy known he was there? How much of what he'd overheard had been for his benefit rather than Rachel's?

"Come on," Jesse said softly, not breaking eye contact with Will even as he spoke to Rachel. "My house or yours?"

"Mine," Rachel said, pulling away and taking the hand he offered. Only then did Jesse look away from Will, and his face turned gentle and responsive once more. "My dads won't be home for hours," she added.

The kids turned and continued down the hall, neither glancing back to see whether Will was still watching.

Lovely, he thought. Just lovely. Now he had yet another dilemma to worry about. Who was this Jesse kid, and why was Rachel so afraid to tell her friends about him? What was wrong with him—what was the secret she thought they wouldn't like? Will didn't know, and he felt a headache start to pulse in his temples and behind his eyes. This was going to plague him until he figured it out.

* * *

><p>"Listen here, Treasure Trail. We're about to have a smackdown."<p>

Rachel swallowed as Quinn slammed her locker with a purposeful shove. "I don't want to have a confrontation," she said, trying to make the words as calm and firm as possible. If they needed to have a showdown and get everything out in the open, that was fine. But not now—not in the hallway, not in the middle of the day, between classes. She'd much rather do it in glee rehearsal, or even after school in the parking lot. This was too sudden, and Quinn looked madder than she'd ever seen her. Rachel wasn't concerned for her physical safety—the blond cheerleader was maybe a little taller than her, but not by much—but she absolutely did not want to deal with the cruel comments that were sure to come her way if Quinn insisted on an altercation here and now. At least in the choir room they had a semblance of privacy, but here in the hallway everyone could see and hear what went on.

And yes, people were looking. One glance out of the corner of her eye told her that much.

But as she tried to move away from the furious cheerleader, Quinn's hand pulled her back. Rachel spun around, meeting cold, muddy green eyes and an enraged, sharp little pixie face. Quinn really had a face perfect for cruelty, Rachel marveled somewhere in the back of her mind. There was nothing kind or likeable about it at all, despite the near-perfect beauty.

"Don't play stupid with me, Stubbles." Quinn squeezed Rachel's arm tightly before abruptly dropping her hand. She stepped forward threateningly. "I'm having Finn's baby, and you need to back. Off." Her teeth clenched, and she grit the next few words out between them. "I'm asking you as nicely as I possibly can. Leave him _alone_."

Rachel took a deep breath. There was no use in stalling anymore—if this was how and when Quinn wanted to have their showdown, Rachel could do nothing about it. She steadied herself, not really knowing what she was going to say but willing to give it a try.

Suddenly, a pair of very familiar arms closed around her waist, pulling her a half-step backward until her back touched a firm chest. Instantly she felt centered once more; she had no idea why he was here, or how, but it hardly mattered.

"Quinn Fabray, isn't it?" The ice in Jesse's voice made Rachel shiver, though it wasn't directed at her. She knew he had a temper, but she'd never heard him this coldly furious before. His anger didn't burn like Quinn's—it was a frozen, calculating, and much more frightening emotion. "We haven't met. I'm Jesse St. James. Rachel's boyfriend."

Quinn's face went blank with surprise, but only for an instant. Rachel watched as a chary half-smile replaced the shock on the cheerleader's pretty face. "Her boyfriend?"

Jesse gave one firm nod. "I'm a senior, and I go to Carmel. But I've heard some very unpleasant things about what goes on here at McKinley, and I'm not the kind to just sit around. So I'm here to set the record straight and tell you to leave my girlfriend alone."

"I will if she leaves my boyfriend alone," Quinn shot back. "If you don't go here, pretty boy, you won't have seen the way she follows him around like a sickening little puppy. You really should pick your girlfriends better. In fact, I have several single friends if you're interested—all of them prettier and more popular than that _thing_."

Rachel opened her mouth, but before she could defend herself Jesse's hand shifted slightly against her stomach. She stilled and raised a hand to hold his arm closer around her body. Quinn's hateful words weren't unexpected, but that didn't mean they didn't hurt. She knew perfectly well what the head cheerleader thought about her, but to have her reputation so viciously summed up in front of Jesse cut her deeply. She trusted that he wouldn't believe it, though that hardly mattered. It didn't stop Quinn's mouth.

"Thanks, but I'd be afraid of catching something," Jesse said dryly, and the note of absolute disdain in his voice warmed and centered Rachel. She'd known he wouldn't really believe anything Quinn had to say, but knowing it in her mind and having it confirmed by his steady voice and firm, unwavering arms were two very different feelings. Her eyes pricked and she blinked rapidly, not even really sure why she wanted to cry. The confrontation was unpleasant, but she wasn't unhappy. She couldn't be—not with Jesse wrapped so tightly around her.

"And as for your baseless insinuation that Rachel wants or tries to cheat on me—that's utterly absurd. Look at your boyfriend, then look at me. We aren't even in the same league."

It was true, too, which was why Rachel didn't begrudge Jesse his cocky attitude. On someone else it would be insufferably obnoxious, but Jesse's ego was warranted. He knew who he was and what he was worth. There was nothing wrong with stating the obvious.

"Finn is the football team's quarterback," Quinn shot back, though she was clearly nonplussed by Jesse's calm dismissal of her accusations. She had not expected to suddenly be put on the defensive, and Rachel couldn't begin to explain how happy that made her.

"And I'm the leader of Vocal Adrenaline," Jesse said flatly. "Check and mate."

A large crowd was gathering by now, and Rachel felt her face heat as so many questioning eyes fastened upon them. Jacob ben Israel was at the front of the mob, his pocket recorder shoved out in front of him and a look of rapt attention on his face.

"You're sleeping with the enemy!" Quinn rounded on Rachel as Jesse's words sank in.

"Don't," Jesse warned. "You say one thing to her that I don't like and you'll regret it."

"You wouldn't hit a girl."

"I wouldn't resort to physical violence anyway. I have other methods, and trust me, you won't like them." He paused, letting his words sink in. "Besides, your accusation is baseless. Rachel and I don't talk shop. I've made it perfectly clear that her talent belongs in Vocal Adrenaline, beside me as my female lead. She's made it equally clear that she doesn't want to leave McKinley. I don't agree with her decision, but I respect her right to make it. And since this is her choice, I'm doing everything I can to make it a palatable one. Which is why I'm going to repeat myself: leave Rachel alone. If you'd open your eyes for once instead of being blinded by your inane jealousy, you'd see that it's Finn hanging on her, not the other way around. If you're so desperate to hang onto your beanstalk of a boyfriend, I'd consider a tactic other than threatening my girlfriend."

Quinn was silent for a moment, her sudden lack of words giving Will Schuester just enough time to push through the crowd of students to find the confrontation at its center. Usually hallway mobs only formed around knock-down fights, and he waded into the melee, hoping to halt whatever brawl was at its center.

To his surprise, instead of yet another scuffle between football and hockey players, Will found himself watching a staredown between Quinn Fabray and the Jesse kid Rachel was so desperately hiding from her teammates. He had Rachel backed firmly against his chest, his arms holding her tightly as his attention was riveted on her rival.

None of the involved kids or the onlookers paid him any attention, and Will was—perhaps for the first time in his professional life as a teacher—at a loss for words. He had absolutely no idea what was going on here. He caught sight of Jacob ben Israel, who was currently shoving his audio recorder in Quinn's face. Will was sorely tempted to confiscate the device, just so he could figure out what had happened before his tardy arrival on the scene.

"I don't believe you," Quinn said finally, drawing everyone's attention back to her. "This has been going on ever since he joined the stupid glee club. I told him not to. I warned him that there would be consequences. And I warned _her_ to keep her paws off of him."

"I know exactly how long it went on," Jesse said, and Will heard the deliberate stress on the past tense. "And, unlike you, I also know exactly when it ended. When Rachel met me." He flashed a cocky, cold smile. "If anything's happened since then, Rachel wasn't the instigator." Jesse paused, and the unkind, mocking smile grew wider. "That's the difference between you and me, little girl. I trust my lover."

This was probably the moment he should step in and break things up, Will thought. The ice in Jesse's tone was clearly a veiled threat of some sort, though he couldn't imagine what the boy could possibly have to threaten her with. Really, though, what was he supposed to say? This mess between Finn, Quinn, and Rachel needed to be aired and waded through. This was neither the time nor the place, but if Jesse and Quinn were going to do his job for him, he was actually a little relieved.

"I trust Finn," Quinn snapped.

"Sure you do." Jesse's pitying tone was worse than his threatening one, and Will winced inwardly. He risked a glance at Rachel, clasped tight in the boy's arms. She did not look happy with the situation, but she clearly wasn't going to put a stop to it. And why should she? Rachel Berry thrived on drama. She was probably eating up the chance to be the center of attention right now.

"I do," Quinn insisted. "Finn is a good guy. Can you say the same?"

Jesse threw his head back and laughed. "Absolutely not. I'm devious and conniving and full of myself. I know exactly who I am, and I make no apologies for it. But I love Rachel, and I trust her, and I'd never do anything to hurt her." The cold smile bled across his face again. "Too bad your boyfriend can't say the same for you." He raised one mocking eyebrow. "Ask him. The next time you see him, I dare you to ask him whether he ever kissed Rachel. You know as well as I do that they never even spoke before he joined this school's sad excuse for a show choir, so any contact would have been well after the two of you started dating." His smile did not change. "I know the answer already—whether they kissed before Rachel started dating me, and how many times. She wasn't cheating, but he was."

"I don't believe you."

"Ask him. And while you're at it, give him a message from me. Tell him to quit pawing my girl in rehearsals. Choreography notwithstanding, he needs to keep it professional."

"You were spying on us!"

Jesse snorted. "Hardly. When and if you get through Sectionals, then we'll talk. Besides, Vocal Adrenaline won't be wasting our spying talents on you—believe me. Rachel's the only thing you've got that's worth our while, and she's already made her feelings perfectly clear."

Vocal Adrenaline. Suddenly all the cryptic comments snapped into place. Will groaned inwardly. This Jesse must be Jesse St. James, a name he'd heard plenty of times. Whenever there was a write-up about Vocal Adrenaline in the paper, Jesse's name was always prominently featured. Will just hadn't put the two together. He'd never dreamed that Rachel would actually—possibly quite literally—sleep with the enemy.

It certainly explained why she'd been so reticent to introduce him to the rest of the club, though. And Will had to admit that he was a little gratified to learn that his original suspicion was correct—the boy could, in fact, sing. Horrendously well, if all the fuss about him was to be believed.

"I told you I didn't want to have a confrontation." Rachel's voice was soft as she spoke for the first time. Will had only ever heard her speak so gently once before—the other day, when he stumbled across her illicit meeting with Jesse. "I'm sorry it had to come out this way, but maybe it's better you heard it from someone else. You never listen to anything I say anyway." She bit her lip, as if considering her next words, then forged ahead. "I like singing with Finn. He's got talent—more than you do, in fact. But I don't want to steal your boyfriend. I've told you before, and you refuse to believe it. I'm sorry for that, truly I am, because it just causes you more heartache—but I have no idea how to change things when you just won't listen. I want to be Finn's friend. I don't want to have to pretend to ignore him just because you're paranoid. Jesse's my boyfriend, and I love him. I won't cheat on him—I don't want to."

Will took a deep breath before stepping into the fray. He took Quinn gently by the shoulder and pushed her back a step, giving everyone a little breathing room. "Okay," he said, trying to will authority into his voice. "Nothing to see here. Everyone get to class."

As the crowd of students reluctantly broke up, Will kept a hand on Quinn and turned his head to Jesse and Rachel. Jesse's eyes met his, and the knowing smirk on the boy's face unnerved Will once again. He still didn't understand this kid, and that made Jesse dangerous. What was his motivation? If Vocal Adrenaline truly didn't consider them any sort of threat, what was their lead doing here, wrapped around Rachel?

As he thought her name, Rachel's hand tightened in Jesse's. The quick movement caught Will's eye, and he watched in fascination as the boy's face melted and changed. One small touch, and the snide, calculating facade disappeared as if it had never existed in the first place. In its place was something raw and open, warm and private. Jesse smiled at Rachel as if nothing and no one else in the world existed, and he dropped his head to run his nose along her ear and whisper something Will couldn't catch. Rachel smiled, and in that instant, Will thought he started to understand—to believe what Jesse and Rachel had been trying to explain to Quinn. Maybe there _was_ no ulterior motive. Maybe Jesse truly liked Rachel—that expression on his face didn't seem like something easily faked. She clearly liked him. And, if so, it solved the problem of his team members feuding over Finn's affections. He tried to be an optimistic kind of guy—so Jesse was with Vocal Adrenaline. It didn't necessarily mean this had to be such a bad situation.

"My office," Will said gently, guiding Quinn by the shoulder and motioning to the other two. Maybe something good could be salvaged from this mess.

* * *

><p><em>AN: And now that I have officially given Rachel some dignity when it comes to the whole Finn mess, I feel my work here is done. ;-) Y'know, all evidence to the contrary, I actually don't dislike Finn. I think he's not really all that talented, and he doesn't belong with Rachel, but I don't really see him as a bad guy. To preserve that image, maybe it's best we didn't see him try to explain to Quinn how many times he and Rachel kissed before she met Jesse. Sigh. _

**_Update: _**_Yes, someone called me out on this (lol, I love that you guys are such discerning readers!) The verb "to table," which Jesse uses once or twice in this oneshot, actually means BOTH to offer an idea for discussion AND to withdraw an idea from discussion. Confusing, isn't it? Here's what Jim Cofer has to say (I swear to god that Bill Bryson, one of my favorite authors in the entire world, discussed this issue in one of his language books, but I couldn't find the passage when I went back to look): _"In Britain, to table something (like a business plan or government bill) means to take action on it (as in, 'to bring something to the table'). In the US, to table something is to stop discussing the plan or bill and cease action on it (as in, 'to take it off the table'). As you might guess, this created a lot of confusion during the war between British and American military and political leaders that had never worked together before."


	6. Dream On

_A/N: Sigh. I *tried* to write sweet!Jesse. I really tried. This is what happened. I feel like I did when I was a kid and got mixed up reading recipes in the kitchen. The results are edible, but it's certainly not cake._

* * *

><p><strong>...But I Have Dreams<strong>

"Jesse, what are you doing here?"

"I said that I was going to help you make your dreams come true." He held up a plastic cassette cover that had become very familiar to her over the past couple of days, an innocent smile playing across his open face. With his other hand he closed the door to her tape deck.

Instant panic. Her heart thudded out of rhythm, so loud and insistent that she was afraid Jesse might be able to hear it. No—not like this. Not here, not now. She wasn't ready. She needed more time to think about this before taking the plunge. There were too many variables at play, too much at stake. Whatever was on that tape, once she listened to it she could never go back. She would never be the same person she was in this moment, her ears still innocent, all the possibilities still in motion like milkweed drifting on a summer wind. To catch at just one floating seed blindly, without any sort of hint to its viability; to let the others pass along and die. Forever after, she would have to live with this choice.

And not just herself—she was making this decision for her fathers, too, and they didn't even know it. All week she had debated whether to tell them, to show them what Jesse had found and ask their advice. But the whole point of delving into the boxes in the basement was to uncover the truth without having to ask for it, and so she had kept quiet. As much as she hated keeping something this important from them, the choice to listen to her mother's tape had to be hers, and hers alone. Not her fathers'.

And not Jesse's. She raised dark, troubled eyes to the boy who had come back to her, despite her stupid attempt to gain attention by triple-casting him with her exes. He'd transferred schools, possibly giving up his chance at a fourth consecutive national title, and he'd done it for her. All for her. She stared at his beautiful face, open and soft and slightly hopeful. The curly hair she loved so much was brushed back from his strong forehead, though soft strands spilled messily down beside his clear blue eyes. It was a face familiar and dear to her—a face she swore she could read better than almost any other. The soft curve of a vaguely eager, almost puppyish smile drew her eyes. It was the smile she liked best—no hint of the mocking smirk he so often wore. She liked to believe this gentler, more honest smile appeared just for her and no one else. Despite the fact that everyone thought he was stuck-up and overbearing, Rachel saw something else in him. This smile, the smile he wore just now as he looked at her and his finger hovered over the play button, was the real Jesse. It matched the soft shadow of a lisp that appeared every now and then in his voice—the one imperfection he couldn't completely hide and therefore the facet of him she loved best. If those ever so slightly imperfect words could smile, they would look just as Jesse did now, the flaw turned upon itself and made lovely by its very imperfection.

And yet.

And yet there was something off about his face. She didn't want to believe it, didn't want to think any sinister meaning could hide behind that open smile. But she knew him. _Knew_ him. She spent so much time watching people and listening to them, soaking them in and attempting to learn what she could from them in order to craft character and become a better actress. She'd informed Finn months ago, when he broke up with her, that she could tell him exactly who he was—and then she'd proven it by doing so. "It's like you're inside my head," he'd said, sounding distinctly creeped out.

She liked to think her connection to Jesse was even stronger, that she could see and feel and understand him deeper than anyone else. Truthfully, she'd never tried harder or been more frustrated—deconstructing Finn was child's play compared to reading Jesse. He was older, more mature, and infinitely more complex. There were nuances to his character she could neither explain nor fully grasp, though she felt them in her bones, pulsing along her veins with each touch of his hand or sweep of his eyes across her skin. There were dark places inside him, cool caverns and hidden recesses she might never fully be able to map. Demons lurked behind his gaze at times, troubled and haunting, and she hadn't light to banish nor voice to name them.

But she could see them. She knew they were there, and she felt them now prowling behind the sweet, hopeful smile she loved so much. Something was very, very wrong. She was out of her depth, unsure how to respond but knowing she needed to stop him. Whatever his motivation, something wasn't right. And this couldn't be how she first heard her mother's voice, her whole self too afraid to know the truth. At the moment she didn't know which truth was more frightening—Jesse's or her mother's.

"No," she said, willing the fine tremble out of her voice. He could sense weakness like a prowling carnivore, and she couldn't afford to let him pounce. He had already taken too much control over this situation, this search for her mother. She had to end it, to exert her authority. This was _her_ dream, _her_ life, and _her_ choice. Not his. She couldn't let him take this most vital moment out of her hands.

Especially not when he looked at her like that, so open and sweet, but with the shadow of something else lurking in his eyes.

"I'm not ready." They were words she felt she'd been saying to him almost since they met, for one reason or another. But this time most of all—this time she felt them down to the marrow of her bones, and he needed to listen.

"Yes. You are." The perfect fall of one dark curl to the side of his forehead drew her eye even as she tried to meet his gaze, holding steady as he stepped close to her, the firm beauty of him filling her sight until everything else faded to a distant, dull horizon. His blue eyes were so candid, so clear, and she wanted desperately to trust them, to believe that he was doing this all for her. But the shadow, the spectre of something else prowled beneath—the serpentine outline of a shark below the water's surface. He leaned close to her and the darkness neared as if it might finally break through and be exposed. She longed to somehow plunge her hands into the shadow, feel its outline and test its weight, draw it out into the light and know its purpose. His breath brushed against her mouth, fragile as the moment spinning like molten glass between them, and then his lips touched hers.

It was like any other kiss they'd shared, and yet so different. There was a bitterness—burnt sugar and rue—to the touch, and with a start Rachel realized what it was.

Jesse was saying goodbye. Without words, without eyes—only the tender touch of his mouth and one brief shared breath. She didn't know why, but she understood enough. As he pulled away, her dark, searching gaze shifted across his face, seeking a foothold, a crack, the faintest hint of a rough edge onto which she could catch hold against the smoothness of his mask. Her eyes slid like fingers on glass, scrabbling in vain. She could see the regret and the darker shadow it masked, but she could not touch it.

He stepped away again, backing to the cassette player and letting his hand hover once more over the play button. In an instant the moment would snap, breaking forever. Rachel didn't understand why, but she knew that the minute he pressed that button and walked out of her bedroom door, she would lose him forever.

And that was unacceptable. Not without an explanation, not without at least some attempt on her part to thwart his plan to leave her. His hand tensed, the tendons flexing as he moved to do it, to make the final decision that would break this moment and leave them both hanging like a string with nothing tethering the other end.

"Jesse, no."

He froze.

Rachel swallowed hard. "Don't do it. Something's not right here."

The darkness wavered as the mask slipped just a hair's breadth. One of the demons lurking behind his eyes was paying attention now.

Good.

"This is your dream," he said softly, his voice cajoling. "I said—"

"No. Not this time."

Jesse stared. The demon stared. She took a slow breath, trying to steady herself. She was just one girl—an admittedly selfish girl, extremely high-maintenance and only, to her mind, mildly attractive. She was wildly out of her depth here, and she knew it. The echoing secrets Jesse kept hidden from the world were vast and deep—she was playing with fire, and she was going to get burned. Knowing that, she stepped onto the coals anyway.

"Give me the tape, Jesse."

"Why?"

"This isn't right." She advanced a hesitant step toward him, and Jesse flinched back. He actually _flinched_. The unexpected, awkward movement sent a shudder of unpleasant apprehension through her. Jesse St. James was never awkward. Jesse St. James shrank from no one.

"I don't know what you mean."

"What would you do if I told you to drop it? If I asked you never to mention it again?"

A quiver like a breath of wind on water spilled across the shadow in his eyes but, just as swiftly as it came, it was gone again. His shoulders tensed, squaring for a fight; his lithe dancer's frame readied to meet her. "You can't just ignore a dream."

"What if I said I changed my mind? What if I told you it wasn't my dream anymore?"

"I wouldn't believe you."

His automatic answer told Rachel in no uncertain terms that she had not asked the right question. Her mind groped blindly, grasping in the murky darkness below his surface. Realistically, it would be so much easier just to let him walk away. But she'd seen other sides to him than just his showface—this mercurial boy who was so much like her and yet so very different. He was sweetly tender, bitingly funny, and fiercely protective when his instincts were riled. She was addicted to the touch of his hands and the scent of his skin, the rhythmic pulse of his heart when she lay her ear against his chest. But most of all—most of all, he _got_ her. Like no one else, he got her. And she wasn't going to give that up easily. She wasn't stupid. Once lost, she would never find this again.

So she was going to keep trying. For him—for her—for everything they might possibly still be to each other. For that shining hope of finally knowing at least some of the secrets that plagued him and caused stony tension to erupt along the delicately masculine angles of his jaw and forehead.

"I don't want to listen to that tape, Jesse."

"Why not?"

Because something wasn't right. Because this had become far too important to him. Because he'd said goodbye.

"I don't need a reason. I just don't want to."

"You can't change your mind that quickly."

She scowled, taking another step forward and searching his eyes for the prowling demon. "Watch me."

Both Jesse and the demon stopped short, drawing up. His attention had been riveted to her from the beginning, but there was a new intensity to it as his hand slowly dropped away from the tape deck and fell to his side. "Say that again," he demanded. There was a sudden desperate edge to his tone, a pleading call that she yearned to answer though she did not know how. "I need you to be very clear about what you're saying."

"What's going on here?"

The cautious authority of her father's voice ripped through Rachel's head, but she barely heard him. The moment crystallized, freezing into a silent tableau of waiting. Behind Jesse she could see her fathers standing in her doorway. Tension burned along her nerves, quivering and lighting like electricity through wire. They were caught, the four of them, in the ultimate moment of truth and all three of the most important men in her life were waiting for an answer only she could give. So many times in her life she knew the proper answer, knew the right thing to say at any given moment, despite the fact that she rarely obeyed the impulse. Now she listened intently, but the still, small voice inside her was dismally silent. Which question to answer, and how to respond? Did she opt for truth or try to gauge what each man most wanted to hear? Her fathers were forgiving, but with Jesse she would only get this one chance. One last answer to either give life to the moment or split it wide apart.

"I don't want to listen to that tape," she repeated slowly. It wasn't enough though, and she knew it. He was searching for something more, something further. In desperation, she opted for a sudden truth that bled through her mind like water wearing away a stone. "I'm never going to listen to it." She didn't need to know what was on the tape. She had the love of two good men—three if she was still able to count Jesse. Her mother was a surrogate only. There was never meant to be any sort of bond between them.

And she could live with that. She felt the certainty filling her even as a strange, desperate light woke behind the aching blue of Jesse's eyes. She could live without her mother, and she could live without the tape. But she couldn't live without him.

"Say it again," he demanded.

"You heard me before. Now give it to me." She took another slow step. He was nearly close enough to touch.

"Please say it." The desperation did not fade, but it took on a pleading quality she'd never heard from him before. This was vital. He needed to hear the words.

"Rachel! Is he bothering you? I don't like what I'm hearing in there."

She held up her hand to her fathers without tearing her eyes from Jesse. They could wait. They were going to have to wait. The demon and the strange new desperate light were fighting behind Jesse's eyes.

"I am never," she said slowly, dropping each word like a self-made promise into the shrinking space between them, "going to listen to that tape."

As if underwater, Jesse's hand began to move in slow motion though his eyes remained locked with hers. He ejected the tape, drew it from the deck, and slowly held both cassette and cover out on the flat of his palm like an offering to an angry god. The battle behind the near-perfect mask of his showface still raged. "You need to tell me why."

Something about the way he said the words clicked in Rachel's head. This was a lock—a maze—a puzzle—and he was trying to give her the key from the other side. She searched his eyes, watching the unknown light slowly expand. They were breathing in tandem, inhalation for exhalation, giving and taking and almost close enough to feel the exchange against her skin. The cassette still hung between them, extended like an impenetrable piece of modern art. Jesse was trying to tell her something, and her dark eyes traveled across the known planes of his smooth, yearning face, searching, seeking for any clue, any hint as to what he wanted her to do.

"Jesse, I think you need to leave."

Rachel held up her hand again, stopping the advance of her fathers. "Please," she said, sparing them only a glance before shifting back to Jesse. His eyes were begging, and she could barely see the demon anymore. If he needed to know why, she was going to tell him why. Laying her cards on the table was never a good idea with Jesse St. James, but she was going to do it. The consequences of refusing were far too great. "I'm never going to listen to it," she said, speaking slowly and distinctly, never dropping his intense gaze, "because I don't need her. I don't _want_ her." She hesitated, faltering for only the briefest moment. No—she had promised to tell everything, and she was going to do it. "But I want you, Jesse." She slowly reached out and took the tape from his hand, dropping it with a final plastic thud in the trash can. "If this is a choice—and even if it isn't—I want you."

"You don't need her?" Jesse prompted, as if confirming her final answer. Rachel shook her head and lay her palm flat against his still outstretched hand. It was trembling beneath her touch, the very finest of quivers she could only detect through the skin. Her eyes had seen nothing.

"You don't want her?"

She shook her head again and released a held breath. If there was something else he wanted, she couldn't give it to him. She'd spoken the deepest truth of her heart, and she had nothing left to say.

Jesse exhaled too—a sigh that seemed to leech all tension from his body, leaving him a pale shadow with a curious light still shining behind his eyes. He closed his fingers around her hand and pulled, and as his arms curved to hold her close, squeezing tightly, she felt a jagged tremor jerk through him—just once. "Thank god." He dropped his head, and she swore he was hiding in the soft fall of her hair, though Jesse St. James did not hide. "Thank god."

There was nothing she could do but hold him. She cupped the back of his neck in one warm palm and held him tightly, letting him press his body as close to hers as he could. No, she didn't understand—not yet. But she didn't need to. She'd reversed his goodbye kiss somehow, and that was all that mattered.

"Rachel." Her father's voice sounded again, nearer and more impatient. "What's going on?"

"Don't let go," Jesse whispered. His voice was hoarse, and about as unmusical as she had ever heard it. Once again the imperfection gave her that tiny crack, that opening through which she could love him all the more.

"I won't," she promised. She knew all about insecurities. He'd never shown any before, but she wasn't about to look down on him for it now. "I'm here."

"_Rachel_."

"Not now, dad." Her voice was muffled by the black fabric of Jesse's shoulder. On a whim, confident that her fathers couldn't see from behind Jesse, she opened her mouth and caught a small swatch of cotton in her teeth, tugging gently. Another spasm jerked his body against hers and she desisted, the scent of him lingering in her throat.

"Yes now." Her father cleared his throat. "Turn around, please. Both of you."

Jesse's arms only tightened further. It was getting hard to breathe, but she didn't want him to stop. She didn't know what she might find in his eyes when next she looked, but she hoped at least this one demon had been silenced for now.

A sigh sounded from behind Jesse, and Rachel heard two sets of footsteps crossing her floor. She was unsurprised when a firm, familiar hand took her shoulder, urging her to turn around. He probably wanted her to step away from the boy currently holding her tightly, but she was incapable of such a task at the moment. She squeezed Jesse again, as much for her own reassurance as his, before turning in the circle of his arms to meet the worried faces of both her fathers. Jesse allowed the one movement but no more, tightening his arms again as soon as her back was settled against his chest.

"Really, son, it's not like she's going to disappear if you let go," Leroy said, with a weak attempt at forced humor.

"That's what you think." Jesse dropped his head to her shoulder, hiding once more.

"When we let you in, you said all you wanted was to drop off some music." Hiram's voice was cautious. "What happened to that plan?"

Rachel raised her eyes to her fathers, watching as they took in the sight of Jesse wrapped so tightly around her that his muscles trembled. She stared back solemnly, unable to give the answers they so clearly wanted. Something had happened here—something so significant she knew beyond a doubt that it would change all their lives forever. She had no words for it, though; no vocabulary to explain the intense feelings and heady knowledge that she had saved Jesse—and herself, too—from some unnamed and unpleasant path.

"Rachel?" Hiram prompted.

She wanted to explain—she truly did. They deserved to know the truth of what had happened: the boxes, the tape, the intent to find her mother. Keeping this from them had been wrong, and she could see that now. Whatever information she needed, they were the obvious source.

"He brought me a tape," she said, feeling a little lost inside her own head though her body was securely grounded, tethered to Jesse's by his deliciously tight grip. "I don't want to listen to it."

"Honey, we're not stupid. Music may be your whole life, but even you don't feel _that_ strongly about it. Not enough to cause what we heard in your voice when we passed down the hall."

"You know we like to respect your privacy," Leroy added. "But we couldn't ignore what sounded like a fight. Jesse can't come into our home and talk to you like that."

A quiver raced through the boy in question and Rachel raised a hand to his head to soothe him. The cool fall of his curls slid between her fingers. "I'm okay," she said, hoping her words were true. "I'll be fine."

"That's not what we're asking."

"What was so objectionable about the tape, Rachel? Why did you throw it away?"

"Jesse found—" The words died on her lips as something else within her head clicked—another piece to the puzzle. She froze, eyes widening as the realization swept through her.

"Jesse found what?" Leroy prompted.

But Rachel wasn't listening to her dads anymore. She turned in Jesse's arms again, forcing a little space between their bodies. He didn't want to look at her, but she cupped his face in her hands and made him raise his head.

The demon was gone from his pale blue eyes, but so was the light. In its place a bone-deep sorrow and weariness took up residence just below the placid surface of his mask. To everyone else that perfect mask was impenetrable, but not to her. She'd reached below it and knew she could again. That knowledge gave her the strength to look into his battered eyes as she spoke.

"You didn't find that tape in my boxes, did you." It wasn't a question. She already knew the answer.

He shook his head, not denying the accusation.

"Who gave it to you?"

"She did."

It was the obvious answer, and yet Rachel hadn't expected it. Her first instinct had been to believe the tape was some kind of practical joke, an elaborate scheme perpetrated on her by some cruel enemy. Apparently not, according to Jesse. It was, in fact, perhaps an even worse scenario.

Her mother really had made that tape. Then, for reasons unknown, she'd given it to Jesse. He knew her—had spoken with her. He already had the answer she'd been searching for.

"She wants you."

The admission came before she could find the words to ask a question. Jesse pulled his head free of her hands and lowered it again.

"How long?"

"Since Sectionals." A swift, frustrated exhalation of breath puffed from his lungs. "I wasn't supposed to get emotionally involved. She had no idea I already was—I lost my heart the moment I heard you sing."

Other people had said similar things to her over the years—her voice always received compliments even when her personality and looks did not. But Jesse's admission was so simple, so straightforward and heartfelt, that it touched her in ways no other compliment ever had.

"I don't understand what that means—she wants me. She saw me? At Sectionals?"

One slow nod.

"She wants...to meet me? Jesse, I don't understand. Why couldn't she just say so?"

"I think we can shed some light on that, honey." Hiram reached for his partner's hand as if seeking strength just as surely as Jesse was. "Is this about your mother?"

The embarrassed heat that touched her cheeks surprised Rachel. Why did this make her uncomfortable? Other than to tell the turkey baster story, her fathers never mentioned the woman who had given her birth. Their silence made the subject practically taboo, and now that it had been broached, she didn't know how to think or what to feel. "I wanted to know something about her," she confessed quietly. "So we went looking through the boxes in the basement. I'm sorry—I never meant to hurt you."

"Rachel, it's fine. Frankly, I'm surprised it took this long for you to start asking questions about her. It's only natural that you would want to know. But to answer this particular one—we all signed a legally-binding contract. She's not permitted to contact you until you turn eighteen."

The next obvious question died on her lips as Leroy continued where his partner left off. Rachel felt Jesse's arms tighten around her again, pulling her smoothly against his body. His grip was no longer quite so crushingly desperate, but he was adamant about not letting go. Well, that was fine. So was she.

"Before you ask," Leroy said, "we drew up the contract for our protection—and yours. Unfortunately, this is not a progressive state as far as gay parenting rights are concerned. We've done all we can to ensure that you're legally ours and you have a stable home with us, but the fact remains that in the eyes of a court, your mother has more right to you than I do. If anything were to happen to your dad, you would go to a foster home rather than be permitted to stay with me."

"What about the other way around?"

Leroy smiled softly. "Hiram is your biological father, honey. I know it means a great deal to you to think you don't know, but it's time and past for you to admit the truth. I have, and I've never loved you any less because of it."

Rachel scowled fiercely. "This is not how I planned my afternoon, you know."

Hiram's smile was wavery. "Neither did we. But some things you just can't plan for. Your dad's right about wanting protection both for us and for you. The woman we selected to carry you—she was very nice and easy to get along with. She was young, and happy to do this for us. Especially for the compensation she received—she planned to go to New York and try her luck on Broadway. But she was..." He paused. "How would you describe her, Leroy?"

"Flighty." Rachel's taller father shrugged. "I don't mean it pejoratively—it's just who she was. I couldn't say anything about who she is now." He measured a long look at Jesse, who said nothing and continued to stare at the floor. "She would make appointments and not show up, and she was incapable of sticking to agreements. There was always some excuse. We'd already made it clear that our surrogate would have no parental role after you were born, but as we got to know her better we truly felt it was in your best interest as well as ours that she stay away. We didn't ever want you put in a position where you needed something from her that she just couldn't provide. Children require stability and consistency. At the time, she was capable of neither."

Rachel closed her eyes and leaned back against the solid warmth of Jesse's chest. It made perfect sense, she supposed, in a coldly mercenary sort of way. Her mother had sold her for the chance at a Broadway dream. Not that she regretted one moment of her childhood spent with the two men who loved her more than anything. But, though she understood—deeply, truly understood—the all-encompassing, fervent desire to live out a New York dream, she didn't think she'd ever be able to do what her mother had done. Not even for Broadway.

Still, there was one thing she didn't understand. "But if she went to New York, how do you know her, Jesse?"

He let out a short bark of laughter, utterly devoid of humor. "Isn't it obvious? She failed."

"Failed?" Rachel turned to look at him again. The demon was back in his eyes—weak but taunting. She hadn't expected that answer at all. She had her own New York dreams, and hadn't even considered the possibility of failure. Not if she made it there—physically made her way to the bright lights of the Great White Way. Once the huge hurdle of moving and getting set up was accomplished—renting her first squalid apartment, learning to navigate the subway—she'd never contemplated the prospect of giving up and having to leave, of returning home in disgrace.

"Failed." The tight muscle in Jesse's jaw clenched even further. "That thing that happens when you don't succeed." He dropped his eyes, searching her face just as intently as she had ever studied his. Rachel did her best to stand up under the piercing intensity of that stare. She didn't know what he was looking for or what he found when he looked at her like that—did she have demons lurking in her eyes, too? Shadowed recesses he longed to map, curious stillnesses and deeper truths than the ones she herself could name? "You are so much like her," he said finally, his voice full of gentle wonder and the kind of resignation borne of despair. "And at the same time, you're nothing alike at all."

"Genetics," Rachel whispered, not really knowing herself whether it was meant as the pale imitation of a joke or a kind of soothing excuse for something she could not change, even if she wanted to.

"No. Not entirely anyway." He hesitated—only for a moment, but she felt the pause. "You are so much more than I suspect she ever was, and even further from what she has become."

_Now._ The still, small voice that told Rachel what was appropriate now murmured to her, telling her to ask. This was the moment when she could demand to know everything and Jesse would tell her. His resistance had been broken. He would tell her anything now.

She ignored it.

While Jesse might indeed tell her now what she'd always wondered—her mother's name, and what had become of her—she didn't yet know the cost of that knowledge. Until she knew the price, she waited. She didn't know if Jesse might yet decide he'd said too much and try to leave her again—the demon still lurked behind his eyes, after all—and to push him to such a conclusion was unacceptable. She refused.

"Can we rightfully assume then, son, that she tried to use you to get to Rachel?" Leroy's words were not terribly hostile, but his voice was tight.

"She's ruthless in pursuit of what she wants. Right now, that's Rachel." He opened his mouth to say more, but another tremor jerked through him. His eyes closed spasmodically, and his hand reached out blindly.

She understood the gesture—no words were needed. "I'm here," she said, whispering the words only for him as she took his outstretched hand and touched her other fingers to his cheek.

"Stay," he whispered, wrapping her tightly in his arms once more. "Please."

"Of course." Had she ever heard him say please before? Rachel couldn't remember. She'd never heard that pleading whisper, though. Not from him.

"Why did you agree to it?" Hiram asked. When he received no immediate answer, he sighed and rubbed his thinning hair in frustration. "Kids—no one's being kicked out or going anywhere. Please, just come sit. We can't have a civil discussion with one or another of you hiding your heads against the other every five seconds."

"No." Jesse's voice was adamant.

"I won't even make you sit in separate chairs," Hiram gently pressed. "You can sit right there on the end of the bed, both of you. Hold hands, whatever you want. Just quit with the hiding. There's no need for it."

"Jesse?" Rachel tipped her face up to his.

"Don't let go."

"I won't." She squeezed the hand he was already holding and led him the few steps to her bed. She doubted her fathers knew just how many times she and Jesse had been together on this particular piece of furniture before, and she wasn't going to enlighten them. There were some things that parents just didn't need to know.

Jesse settled against one of the tall white posts of her bed and drew her close, encircling her with his arms. In this position his face was almost still hidden from the Berry men—if she was just a little taller, he'd have that extra degree of safety. As it was, he was able to tuck her head under his chin with little difficulty. Rachel leaned back against the warm bulk of him, relishing the feeling of being held so securely. She didn't begrudge her fathers their wish to know what was going on, but she wished they could just leave it alone for a while until she and Jesse had had a chance to discuss it between the two of them. She wanted nothing more than to soothe whatever was hurting him—ease whatever fear was causing him to clutch her so tightly against him. She was more than happy to be his support, but Jesse had never needed it before and she had to admit that it was a little unnerving to witness such vulnerability from the boy she'd always considered pretty much invincible.

"Okay," Leroy said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay. Rachel—Jesse." He paused. "I don't even know where to start."

Well, Rachel did. She turned her head, craning to see the boy who held her. "What does she have on you, Jesse?"

His hopeless bark of laughter was not reassuring. "My future. My life."

Hiram sat in Rachel's desk chair and scooted closer to the bed. "I don't understand, son."

Jesse ran a hand down Rachel's arm, finding her fingers and stroking them, wrapping her hand in his. "High school is a caste system. Everyone knows that. But Carmel takes it a step further. Vocal Adrenaline—we're at the top. Everyone is terrified of us, even the faculty and administration. We keep money funneling into the school, and the staff knows it. To keep that money flowing, they give us whatever we want—things we wouldn't even have thought to ask for." His voice cut off abruptly, and his body jerked against Rachel's again. She couldn't see his face from where she sat, but she felt him duck against her head. So much for her father's insistence about not hiding.

"Most of us don't really attend school, per se," Jesse finally admitted, the words torn unwillingly from his throat. She could feel his reluctance and the sullen anger behind it, though not at her fathers or herself for requesting the information. At her mother, perhaps? At the adults from Carmel who put him in this situation to begin with? "The school bribes some Asian kids to go to classes for us. We all have great grades, but I personally have never actually attended a high school math class." He snorted. "They'll even let us skip out of the easy classes like Home Ec if we want."

Suddenly everything snapped together in Rachel's mind. "She knows," she said. "She knows, and she threatened to tell your college."

"_Any_ college," Jesse corrected. "_Every_ college. If I decided to give up my scholarship this minute, it wouldn't appease her. She'd just find my next choice and do the same thing." He hissed lowly. "It's no different than college athletes—you think any of them are actually in school because of their academics? Everyone knows that the system is designed to reward people with talent. But she's using that system to her advantage, not mine."

"When?" Leroy demanded. "When did this all come about?"

Jesse's arms tightened around Rachel again, and she felt his nose nuzzle against her ear. "The moment she realized that Rachel and I had made a connection."

She exhaled an entirely unexpected sigh of relief. She hadn't suspected Jesse of deception, had she? Not consciously—not that she knew of. Why, then, did she feel like something heavy had been lifted from her shoulders? "So it wasn't all a lie," she murmured, the words falling somewhere between a question and a statement.

Jesse's arms instantly tightened again, his grip becoming desperate. "Of course it wasn't a fucking lie," he grit out between clenched teeth. "None of it was! I saw you—I wanted you. I can't explain what it is you do to me, but I need you. I can't let go, Rach. I can't." He swept a firm palm across her clothed stomach. "I don't know what will happen now, but I can't let you go."

"No one's asking you to."

"_She_ is." His voice was dark, full of the shadow Rachel had seen in his eyes. "Not asking, either—demanding. As soon as you listen to the tape."

"I threw it away. I won't listen to it."

"Son, this isn't right," Leroy broke in. "Nobody should have that kind of power over your life. I can't say I agree with your assessment of the educational system, or your choice to take what the administration offered and blow off your academics. But this sort of blackmail is criminal. We can't let this stand."

"And what, exactly, do you propose to do?" Jesse's tight voice was mocking. "If you say anything, she'll know I narked. One step out of line and she'll make that call. You described her as flighty and irresponsible when she was younger, but nowadays she's anything but. I don't know if the reality of her failure in New York was what changed her, but she's different. She's cold and efficient—always demanding perfection and accepting nothing less. I don't know what she'll do when I tell her Rachel refuses to listen to the tape, but I do know what she'd do if you told her to stop threatening me."

"Jesse, there has to be something we can do." Rachel heard tears in her own voice, and she hated them. For once, she was supposed to be the strong one. Jesse needed her right now, and she wasn't going to let him down. She refused. "This is your life we're talking about!"

"I know that." He kissed the side of her head. "Don't you think I know that?" His sigh was regretful, but Rachel still shivered at the warm breath of air exhaled into her hair. "But it's yours, too. You don't deserve a mother like that, Rachel, no matter how much you might think you want her."

"I don't _want_ her," she corrected quickly. "I wanted to know who she was. That's not the same thing at all. And if getting that knowledge means losing you, then I don't want it. You're more important to me than the name of a woman I'll probably never meet."

"You could meet her if you wanted to." Jesse's tone was halting; Rachel knew all of his voices so well, and she knew that he did not like what he was saying. Though he was conniving, there was an underlying honesty to him that his manipulative outer layers could not entirely mask. He wasn't holding back now—she would get all the information she wanted, if she dared ask for it. "She wants you," he pressed. "She saw you sing, and she wants you."

"I still don't understand what that means. She's not my legal guardian. What does she want from me?"

"I don't know." Jesse made a face; she could hear it, though she couldn't see it. "She doesn't discuss details with her minions."

Rachel twisted in his arms and placed a gentle kiss on his jaw. It was awkward, but she managed. "You're nobody's minion, Jesse. You know yourself too well to ever be a follower."

"I used to think that." He dropped a kiss on her shoulder. "Circumstances have proved otherwise."

"One difficult situation doesn't change who you are," Hiram broke in firmly. "Jesse, we take your point about how dangerous she is. We'll have to think about this before we decide what to do, but something needs to be done. All right?"

Rachel felt his reluctant nod and she copied the gesture.

"Okay. We'll let you go now, kids; I'm sure you still have a lot to talk about. As do we." He tossed a glance at his partner, and Leroy nodded firmly. "Rachel, we'll want to have a talk with you later tonight."

"Yes, daddy."

The two men left then, closing the door behind them.

Rachel sighed in relief and turned immediately in Jesse's arms. She straddled his legs, wrapping herself firmly around him. He clutched at her back, pulling her as close as he possibly could. "Don't let go," he demanded once again.

"Why would I?"

"I lied to you."

"You did," Rachel agreed. She let him grip her as tightly as he wanted, knowing his fingers might be leaving bruises but not caring. Desperation was something new from him, something she hadn't thought he was capable of. But he was showing it now, and showing it for _her_. His future was in jeopardy, but that wasn't what made him so furiously insecure. No—it was the thought of losing her that caused him to hold her so tightly, refusing to let go. His actions made a powerful, heady feeling course through her, and she shivered with the secret knowledge that, on some level, they were equals now. He wasn't the perfect boy on a pedestal, stooping to give her attention as if she were an adoring fan. Not that she'd ever really thought of their relationship that way, but there _had_ always been a power differential in her mind. He was older, more experienced, and vastly more confident. He was the star of Vocal Adrenaline, and she was merely co-captain of an upstart group of misfits. But in one afternoon, all that had changed. Willingly or not, he'd shown her yet another facet of his incredibly complicated personality, and this one was vulnerable. It didn't just want her—it _needed_ her. Rachel knew that she was going to do everything in her power to meet that need. She couldn't turn him away—not now, not like this.

"Say something, please," he begged, his voice muffled by the long sweep of her hair.

"What do you want me to say?" Unwillingly, she pulled away so that she could look at him. His hands fell to rest against the curve of her ass as she straddled him, and she shivered. It wasn't meant as a sexual touch—merely the most reasonable place for his hands to fall as he released his desperate hold on her body. Any touch from him lit something inside her, though—something she'd never felt with any of her previous boyfriends. She swallowed hard, trying to dismiss the feeling of his fingers brushing lightly against her skirt. "You're a wonderful actor, Jesse. Your showface is amazing—one of the best I've ever seen. But it's not perfect." She reached up and cupped his cheek in her hand, smoothing her thumb across the surface of his skin. "I can see beneath it, though I can't always reach past. I knew something wasn't right the minute I saw you today."

He shook his head slowly. "Only you. Nobody else—not even my parents—has been able to do that." He turned his face into her hand and kissed her palm. "I need you, Rachel. I know I said it before, but it's true. You've done something to me, and I don't know how to live without you now. Please, please don't go."

"I wasn't planning on it." She raised her other hand to tuck her hair behind her ear but he beat her to it, winding the cool, dark strands through his fingers.

"I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow or next week. I just know I need you in my life."

"I know." She moved her hand, tracing her fingertips lightly across his soft lips. They were perfect—pink and smooth. Finn hardly had any lips at all, in comparison. "Kiss me, please."

"Are you sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Rachel frowned. She wasn't five years old anymore, and she knew that a kiss wasn't going to break any evil curses. But she wanted one anyway. Maybe it wasn't a magic cure-all, but she believed it could soothe some of the hurt she knew they both were feeling.

"I lied to you," Jesse repeated. "We have to talk about this, Rachel."

"We will." She pushed closer to him, the thin line of her panties coming in contact with the front of his jeans. She froze at the unexpected touch, flicking her gaze up to meet his, and felt his hands clench in the pleats of her short pink skirt. They'd sat like this plenty of times before, but somehow this time seemed more intimate...more real. "But not right now," she breathed, slipping her hand to the back of his neck, exerting pressure to bring him closer to her.

He surrendered to the touch, lowering his mouth to lock gently against hers. The kiss was slow at first, and hesitant—something their kisses had never been before. She exhaled softly though her nose, feeling tension leech from her body as his mouth moved expertly with hers. They knew each other so well now—their likes and dislikes, the subtle touches that would send one or another of them spiraling toward the edge of control. He wasn't playing her body the way he was so adept at right now—there was no agenda to his touch but a kind of soothing warmth. She could feel the almost aimless way he swept a hand up and down her back, relishing the contact without moving down to squeeze her ass or unsnap her bra through her shirt. There was nothing to his touch except _touch—_nothing but the desire to be close, to hold and be held, to revel in the comfort of nearness after such a difficult conversation.

"You are so beautiful," he breathed against her mouth, nipping her full lower lip softly as he inhaled a shaky breath. "Inside and out. I don't know what you've done to me, but please, please don't stop."

Rachel kissed him again. She had no intention of stopping, though she also had no idea what magic this was that had somehow sprung up between them. Despite being a hopeless romantic at heart, she'd never given much credence to the idea of soulmates. Now, though...now she wasn't so sure. Knowing how Jesse felt—seeing it writ large, despite his every effort to mask his emotions with the ever-present showface—she could not deny anymore the pull they both had on each other. If this wasn't just a one-way infatuation, as her doomed relationship with Finn had been, she almost didn't know what to think.

But she couldn't deny the intensity on Jesse's beautiful face as he kissed her again, and she closed her eyes, surrendering to the rightness of the moment. Yes, they still had a great deal to discuss. Yes, by all rights she should be furious with him for lying to her. But a major crisis had been averted. His goodbye kiss had been repealed. Nothing could be wrong in her mind as long as she remembered that.

Thoughts of his thwarted goodbye still lingering in her head, Rachel pushed herself up on her knees. The position gave her the advantage of height—perhaps for the first time ever, she thought wryly—and she broke the kiss softly, her hands cupping his face as she gazed down at him. His expression was gentle and open, accepting of whatever might happen next. She couldn't help dropping another swift kiss against his mouth, warm and wet and utterly delicious. She was addicted to the taste of him, as she was everything else about him.

"Hello," she whispered. No matter how much she wanted to deny it, Jesse _had _said goodbye. That couldn't be taken back, but it could be altered. Mitigated. Turned into something new—something beautiful. "I'm Rachel."

"I know who you are," Jesse breathed. He was open to her now, the showface completely gone. She could read every nuance of emotion flickering in the clear blue of his eyes, and she knew the significance of her words was not lost on him.

"You know Rachel Berry. The daughter of a conniving mother, the girl you were blackmailed into deceiving. I want to introduce you to _Rachel_."

Jesse swallowed; she watched his Adam's apple bob with the gesture. "By all means, then."

His arms were looped around her thighs, his hands hot against her skin as he tightened his grip. Rachel wondered what he saw when he looked at her so intently—she wasn't purposefully wearing a showface, but she didn't think she could ever look as raw, as unfiltered, as Jesse did in that moment. Could he sense what she was thinking? Did he know what she meant when she said those words?

"Jesse," she whispered, and she lowered her mouth to his once more.

Yes. The moment her mouth touched his, she understood. He _did_ know. He knew exactly what she meant, and he agreed. Whether it was her reasoning he agreed with or just the desperate need to be close to her, she didn't know. Not that it particularly mattered. She was his. He was hers. Anything and everything else could wait.

He dropped backward on the bed, bringing her with him, and she stretched her body out on top of his. His hands were steady at her waist, holding her firmly against him. She felt her body heat, the liquid rush of desire trickling through every nerve ending as he continued to kiss her, his mouth tender but fervent, his hands giving her no option but to press herself closer to his body. Not that she had been planning to do anything else.

Yes, she thought as she traced one hand slowly up his chest, sliding her palm up under his shirt. _This_ was the kind of introduction she'd meant. Not for the reasons they'd tried before, but because she needed to be close to him. She needed him to understand just what he meant to her—the desperation in his voice when he begged her not to leave him was too much for her to handle, and the thought of saying goodbye permanently was even worse. After all the declarations that had come to light, she needed a chance to reconnect with the boy who had stolen her heart. She needed to be close to him, and she didn't know of any better way. He'd promised her epic romance and she was pretty sure this wasn't it, but she didn't care. She'd been confused and afraid—so afraid that he would leave her. She wasn't scared anymore, but the desire for contact and comfort still lingered.

"No, Rach." The words grated out between his teeth, and he caught her wrist to still her movements. "Not now—this isn't right."

"Yes, it is." She kissed him again. "It's okay, Jesse. I want you."

"I want you, too," he said, catching her chin in his free hand and holding her still. "But you don't have to do this. Haven't you been listening to a word I've said? You don't have to prove anything—you've already shown me more trust and love than I could ever deserve. This is just—"

Rachel smiled and twisted out of his grip, dropping her head to press a kiss to his mouth. "I'm not doing this to keep you, Jesse. You already proved that I don't need to. I'm doing it because I want to be close to you. Please—just let me be close to you."

"I don't know if I—"

"No pressure," she whispered. "We're both goal-oriented people, but let's throw that out the window tonight. Just love me, Jesse, please, and let me love you."

"You're amazing. You know that, right?"

"Yes." She smiled brightly and leaned forward to nip his lip. "How about you show me exactly how much?"

In an instant she was under him, her body pinned to the bed. "Don't tempt me, little girl," he said, the words grating low in his throat. The sound of his voice made a thrill of nerves trickle down her spine and she caught her breath, feeling her heart pick up speed.

"What if I want to?" she whispered, raising a hand to touch his jaw, sweeping her fingertips across the clenched muscle.

His answer wasn't voiced in words, but in a bruising kiss. Her heartbeat faltered before speeding up even more as she felt his hands move to frame her face, guiding her even as the kiss consumed everything she was. In that moment she felt herself begin to melt, to flow, to become something...something other than the girl she had always been. Something in her mind shifted, clicking into place as Jesse's hands cradled her face, his body pressing her into the bed. Yes, she thought. Before she hadn't been ready, but she was now. To hell with epic romance—she didn't need any of the false trappings of love. She had the real thing here and now, covering her; consuming her.

"Jesse..." she murmured as his mouth moved off of hers, though it was only for a moment. She pulled at his shirt, managing to hoist it over his head as he ducked impatiently out of it. His hands were on the buttons of her floral-print blouse almost immediately, and she made no protest as his fingers undid them one by one. Instead of letting her sit up to pull the shirt off her shoulders, he slid his hands beneath the flaps of fabric as soon as the last button was undone. Big and warm, his hands engulfed her skin for the first time, drawing her close, sliding smoothly up and down her torso. It felt like they were everywhere—stroking along the defined line of her ribs, then dancing lightly against the bottom edge of her pink bra, never pushing to unclothe more skin but claiming every inch already bared to his sight.

"So beautiful," he said, lowering his head to kiss her bellybutton.

Rachel let out a shaky breath, threading her hands through his hair as his mouth found her skin for the first time. It was so intensely personal to have someone else's hand against her hip, his curls tickling her skin when he turned his head to lay his ear against the soft concavity of her stomach. She could smell him on every breath she inhaled—boy and spearmint and the faint hint of this morning's aftershave. He smelled and felt starkly masculine, so different from her own softer scent and body. He wasn't an overly large person, but she felt engulfed by him as he pressed close to her, his hands stroking, learning her skin as she hesitantly released his hair to do the same.

"No joking, Rachel." His mouth traced its way up her throat, his hands stroking the hem of her skirt. "You're mine now."

"I was before," she whispered, pushing him up and off of her. He fell to the side and she slid a leg across his torso, straddling his hips. As she shrugged her shoulders and her open blouse fell down her arms, she watched the emotions play across his beautiful, open face. He was watching her body intently, and she could see the male hunger in his eyes. But there was something more there—something different, something she'd never seen in any other boy's face. Neither Puck nor Finn had ever looked at her like that, and with a start she realized what it was.

Yes, Jesse had claimed her just a moment ago. Yes, he'd called her his, and she had agreed. But for the first time—the first time for her _and_ for him—it now went both ways. Something in him had surrendered, and he was now hers. They belonged to each other. The concept of reciprocity was new and startling to Rachel, and she savored the revelation as she reached behind herself with one hand and unsnapped her bra.

Jesse immediately sat up as the straps fell from her arms and she shed the garment. He wrapped his arms around her, bare chests touching in a way that made her heart race. Her nipples hardened, pebbling as his smooth chest rubbed against her. His hands were on her bare back, stroking slowly, his palms dancing lightly across her skin with deliciously agonizing sweeps. "I want you," he whispered.

"I know."

She did, too. She could feel his hard male insistence as she sat wrapped around him, and for once, the thought of what he wanted did not scare her. She was ready, and they were really going to do this. She'd found a boy—perhaps _the_ boy—she could fully give herself to with no regrets. After today, she had absolutely no doubts about his feelings for her. After today, she had no fear that he was somehow playing her, or would leave her in the lurch if things got difficult. She had no better idea than he did what would happen after tonight but, for once, she didn't care. They would face it together, and that was all that mattered.

Jesse's hands were magic against her skin, stroking everywhere, enveloping her in desire. She was amazed at how intense a simple brush of fingers against the back of her neck could feel as she settled her head into the crook of his shoulder, half closing her eyes and surrendering to the sensations. He peeled her knee-high socks off, sliding his hands up and down the length of her smooth legs with long, gentle sweeping motions. He paused to trace the back of her bent knee, to run his fingers across each exposed knob of her spine, as if attempting to learn her by heart. Perhaps he was. It would make sense, Rachel supposed; she was doing the same. She swept her hands up the curved arc of his back as he leaned into her touch, feeling the defined muscles she, as a girl, lacked. Each time he moved, they shifted under her hands. It was fascinating to her—everything about him was, and at the moment his body was foremost in her mind. She nuzzled his throat, then nipped gently at the tender skin just where his shoulder met his neck. He made an abrupt noise and closed his arms around her, holding her tightly to him again. Intrigued with the response, she unfurled her tongue and gave him a hesitant lick. His skin was soft and smooth to the touch, and it tasted good—clean, maybe a little salty.

Did boys receive hickeys as well as give them, Rachel wondered? She didn't know and couldn't remember seeing any of the boys at school sporting one, but that didn't mean much. If it didn't pertain to her, she didn't always notice what other people were doing. And she wanted to try, anyway. If Jesse stopped her, she'd have her answer.

She licked him again, immediately addicted to the feel of his skin beneath her tongue, then nibbled a little hesitantly on the damp spot. His hands dropped to her skirt and fisted in the pleats, and she felt his body tense as she kissed and nipped. He was breathing in short, shallow breaths; the feel of his warm exhalations against her hair and skin was doing something awful to her equilibrium. As she pouted her lips and sucked softly at his neck, she felt not only surrounded but completely submerged in him. His scent—the firm press of his body—the feel of hot skin on skin—his taste on her tongue. All of it combined into a warm, delicious, slightly overwhelming sensation that she never, never wanted to end. Desire coiled tightly in her belly, begging to be released, though she wasn't at all sure how.

Jesse solved that problem for her, bringing his hands up between them and covering her small breasts with his palms. She made a soft noise of surprise and bit down on his neck a little harder than she'd meant to. He dropped his head and moaned against her throat as she removed her teeth from his skin, and he squeezed her breasts firmly with his hands.

"Kiss me," he said, and she raised her head to eagerly oblige.

Once again, his kiss was raw and consuming. It was beautiful in its ferocity, though his hands remained gentle as he rubbed his palms softly against her nipples, then stroked his fingers across the hard buds, teasing them further. The sensations his hands produced were completely foreign to Rachel, but she wanted more. Her tender, untouched body wasn't used to this sort of attention, and she felt every touch with heightened, unprepared senses. He knew how to touch her body—that was more than obvious. Each sweep of his hands caused shivers of desire to flicker straight to her core, coiling tightly, adding to the growing tension gathering deep within her. She ached to be touched everywhere, for the new, throbbing ache he awoke to both intensify and be assuaged. It made no sense, but neither had anything else this afternoon, and Rachel wasn't in the mood to question how his hands made her feel. Not now. Not when she was in the middle of experiencing it for the first time.

"Let me see you, Rachel."

She wasn't going to deny him anything, but especially not that. Not when he asked with such sweet desperation hiding in his voice. She kissed him again gently, relishing the feel of his lips and the taste of his mouth, then broke away just enough so she could see his eyes.

"Like this." He crossed his legs under her and slid his hands around the small of her back, urging her to lie down. She did, her lower back arching slightly as her ass fit perfectly in the crook of his legs, her upper back and shoulders resting against the mattress. It was a new position for them, and Rachel thought she liked it. She felt exposed, her bare chest open to his eyes and hands, but at the same time, she felt cradled and protected, her lower half secure as he held her.

Jesse's face was utterly serious, his expression rapt as his hands slid up her sides, closing again over her breasts. "You're perfect," he whispered.

Rachel flushed at both his words and his touch. His hands were warm and soft, and even when he gently pinched or tweaked her nipples, it never hurt. It was like he knew just how much pressure was enough for now, sending delicious, electric sensations through her body without causing pain. She was fairly confident about her body—knew she was in excellent shape, and that boys' eyes often lingered on her in the hallways at school, despite her unpopularity. Her breasts were perhaps—besides her nose—her biggest source of disappointment. There was nothing she could do, short of surgery, to make them bigger or fuller. But Jesse didn't seem to mind. He was hungry to touch, and as he murmured how beautiful she was, she could do nothing but believe him. The expression in his eyes wouldn't let her do otherwise.

Slowly, very aware of what she was doing, Rachel arched her back even more, sliding a hand behind herself and finding the zipper of her pink plaid skirt. She drew it down, feeling Jesse's intense blue gaze on her the entire time. She couldn't slip the skirt off in this position, her legs still loosely wrapped around Jesse's hips, but when he put his hands on her knees and slid them up her thighs—up under the garment—she didn't stop him. This was further than they'd ever gone before, and her heart was pounding with both desire and nerves. She knew they were going to go all the way—she was ready, and Jesse wasn't saying no anymore. But each new touch, each boundary broken, was both exhilarating and frightening.

His hands were slow and gentle as they reached up under her skirt, stroking her upper thighs. She couldn't close her legs in this position, and it made her feel a little vulnerable. She tightened her knees against Jesse's waist, squeezing him lightly, and he smiled.

"I know," he said, and the way he looked at her told her the truth of his statement. "I won't hurt you."

"I know you won't."

She did, too. There were many things she could potentially be afraid of, but that wasn't one of them. With Jesse, it had never been.

He stroked one hand across the flat of her underwear, tracing the waistline with a finger before slowly dipping down between her legs. Rachel tensed involuntarily but held still, watching his intent gaze as his hand smoothed across the material of her panties. He touched her slowly and only through the fabric, letting her get used to the feel of his hands.

"You're wet," he whispered, and there was a hard intensity to his voice that she had never heard before. She wondered if that desperate undercurrent meant they had passed the line of no return—the point at which it would be both difficult and painful if she refused him. Not that she was planning on it.

"I want you," she whispered back.

"What a lucky coincidence." He shifted onto his knees and hovered above her for a moment before hooking his hands in the waistband of her skirt. It took some shifting of limbs to slip the skirt off, both his and hers, and Rachel giggled a little as he finally dropped it to the floor. She was a little surprised when her underwear quickly followed—he clearly wasn't playing games anymore.

"I won't hurt you," he repeated softly, his eyes hungry as he lay down next to her, both of them splayed the wrong way on the bed. "I could never hurt you."

"I know." She reached out and swept a wayward curl off his forehead. Her words seemed so inadequate compared to his. "I won't hurt you, either." She'd said it because it was all she could think of, but the moment the words were out of her mouth, she realized the truth of them. Jesse wasn't just talking about the potential for physical pain—he meant emotionally, too. And in that sense, her promise meant as much as his did. They were both equally capable of hurting each other, though Rachel knew she couldn't possibly look into those clear blue eyes—not a demon in sight—and willingly cause him pain. For the very reason he couldn't go through with playing that damnable tape for her. In this, at least, they were exactly the same.

Slowly, feeling a little awkward but desperately wanting to be close to him, Rachel reached out and unbuckled his belt. Jesse let her lower his fly before he took over, sliding out of his tight black jeans and boxer briefs. "Don't be scared," he breathed. She could hear the tension in his voice even as she felt it in his body as he drew her close, both completely naked for the first time.

"I'm not afraid." With a start, Rachel realized it was completely true. She _wasn't_ afraid. Not of what was about to happen, and not of the potential fallout. Whatever happened, it was happening to the both of them and they could handle it. Together.

When he pushed inside her, Rachel couldn't stop the faint whimper that escaped her throat. It was visceral and surreal—it hurt a little as her body stretched, but it felt so indescribably good, too.

"Rachel," he breathed tightly, tense against her body.

"I'm okay," she promised, shocked at the tightness in her own voice. Her body was demanding things she'd never before experienced or wanted. It was like Jesse awoke something inside her, something that knew more than she did. "Please, Jesse—I need—"

"I know." He moved then, and her body mirrored his motions, shadowing the arching thrusts, the push and pull that set off the ache inside her. He stroked her skin, swirling his fingers lightly against her clit, making her cry out sharply at the overwhelming sensation. "Let go when you need to. It will feel so good—I promise. Just let go."

At first she didn't quite understand what he meant, but the coiling tension deep inside her kept winding tighter and tighter, almost like the clicking, tugging sensation of riding to the first, tallest hill on a roller coaster. It twisted tighter and higher with every thrust, every sweep of his fingers on her sensitive skin, and she buried her head against his shoulder as the tension grew. Something was going to give—something had to—

"Let go," he said again. "It'll be okay. You'll see."

This was Jesse. He loved her, and had proved it beyond the shadow of a doubt today. She could trust him. Biting her lip, she closed her eyes and let go.

The rush of sensation that filled her was almost too much. She cried out again, shoving her mouth against his sweaty shoulder to dampen the sound even as wave after wave of pleasure took her, shaking her to the core. It was like plunging down that roller coaster hill—like jumping off a cliff—like every intense feeling she'd ever had, and yet at the same time like none of it. It was like nothing she'd ever experienced before as her inner muscles clamped tightly around him over and over again and her body jerked, spasming, completely out of her conscious control. Her hips pushed hard against his as if trying to get closer to him, though she doubted that was physically possible. At the same time, her entire brain felt like it short-circuited. It was like someone flipped a switch inside her head, and all of the worries, all of the bad feelings faded away to absolutely nothing. She was consumed by sensation and the feel of Jesse surrounding her—filling her. He was the air she breathed, the taste on her tongue. She melted, her body becoming liquid and pliable, and for long, excruciatingly delicious moments, he was her entire world.

Just as her brain was coming back online, she felt Jesse push back into her almost violently. He groaned, the sound deep and aching, and the tension in his body redoubled as he shoved deep—hitting a spot inside her that ached. A hot rush exploded inside her, and she jerked both with the sensation and with surprise. She knew what happened when guys came, but she hadn't expected to feel it. Though she was generally a finicky person, she was surprised to find that she didn't actually mind. It was another part of the experience—of being so close to another person, of sharing that part of herself with him. She held his head against her chest as he dropped against her, stroking a hand through his sweaty curls.

"Thank you," Jesse whispered into her skin.

Rachel shook her head fondly, feeling his heart racing alongside hers. "No," she said. "Thank you."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I'm not. You gave me something wonderful today, Jesse." She kissed his forehead as he tipped his head up, resting his chin on her chest to look at her. The demon in his eyes was long gone, replaced with gentle acceptance and a quiet kind of curiosity. There were still shadows lurking within him—deep recesses and dark places Rachel supposed she might never know. But they didn't scare her anymore. They were part of him, and she accepted him fully for who he was.

Jesse frowned slightly, and Rachel played her fingers across the wrinkle in his brow, smoothing away the confused lines. "I'm good in bed," he said, "I'll grant you that. But, Rachel—"

She smiled. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

He shook his head, though the wrinkle between his eyebrows disappeared. "I never know with you," he said with a regretful sigh. "I'm good at reading people, but you...you're different. I never know what you're going to say or do next."

_Good_, Rachel thought, though she did not voice it. He didn't need to know how happy it made her that she could keep him guessing at least sometimes. She slid a hand leisurely up his back, fascinated by the slide of her palm against his sweaty skin. Now soft, he was still inside her, and she wanted it to stay that way. The weight of his body pressing her down into the bed was reassuring and very welcome. "You trusted me today," she said, splaying her fingers against his upper back and cupping his cheek with her other hand. "You could have walked away, but you didn't. You chose me over whatever my mother was offering you."

Jesse pushed forward, and Rachel met his mouth as he kissed her softly. "Given the chance, I will always choose you," he said. "There are plenty of things you can doubt about me, but not that."

She didn't. Not after today. "I guess I should thank you, also, for being my first." Rachel bumped her forehead lightly against his. "And letting me be yours."

The look he shot her was full of regret. "Rach, much as I wish you were—"

She smiled and shook her head, touching two fingertips to his mouth and stilling his words. "I was," she said, confidence filling her. "I know you've had sex before—that's not what I mean. But even you can't hide or fake that look I saw in your eyes—not from me. This was the first time you've really given yourself to someone. Thank you for that—for the trust it took. I know it's not easy for you."

He kissed her again, slow and deep, and Rachel felt her entire sated, content body quiver, down to her toes. "Yet again," he murmured, "you're right. I've never been able to pair that sort of emotion with physical expression—not before, not with anyone else."

"And I'm not capable of separating the two." She smiled softly. "I think that's why it took us so long to get here. I know you wanted me sooner, but I just wasn't ready. I didn't feel what I was supposed to."

"Neither did I. I'm glad now that you didn't give in when I pressured you before. It made today that much better." Slowly, reluctantly, he moved himself carefully off of her, rolling to the side. She followed, and he settled her into the crook of his arm. She wrapped an arm around his bare torso, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. It was delicious, knowing that body. Knowing the pleasure he was able to bring her with it. "I'm going to marry you someday," he said quietly.

Rachel smiled, ducking her head into his shoulder. Shockingly, perhaps, his words weren't really a surprise. He'd called her success on the stage an inevitability, but it was only one of the inevitable things about her life. Today she'd learned that Jesse was another. Yes, as far as she knew he was still planning on leaving for California in the fall. Somehow, though, she felt sure they could figure things out. They were both intelligent and committed. They could do this. "I'm okay with that," she said, smiling against his shoulder.

"Good." Jesse sighed regretfully. "But right now, we should probably get dressed. Your dads are home, and they did say they wanted to talk to you."

His advice was sound, but Rachel scowled anyway. She didn't want to think about her fathers right now, nor did she feel like putting clothes back on. Laying like this with Jesse was more perfect than she had ever thought possible. "What about a shower?" she suggested, thinking about her sweaty skin and the way water would look dripping down his back.

Jesse glanced at the door to her attached bathroom, then back at her. "Just a shower," he said, quirking an amused smile at her. "You're not ready for standing sex yet."

Rachel didn't think she was ready for _any_ sex yet—not again, not so soon. She needed some time to process what had just happened before making any sort of attempt to try again. But a shower with Jesse sounded wonderful—warm water and wet skin, and the promise of his arms holding her just as firmly as they were now. "Please," she said, and she both felt and heard his chuckle.

"All right, then." He slid off the bed, but as she moved to follow him his arms closed around her, picking her up and holding her close. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, loving the feel of him and the smell of his skin. Her mark was on his neck—not as dark as the ones she'd seen peppered over Brittany and Santana, but perfectly visible nonetheless. It surprised her a little just how much she liked seeing it there. He was hers, and now everyone would know it.

"You bit me," Jesse observed as they entered the bathroom and he put her down. He examined the mark in the mirror, along with the perfect little indentations of teeth on his shoulder.

"That last one was an accident," Rachel said, locking the door behind them and starting the water. "You startled me." She crossed back to him and looked at her teeth marks again. "At least I didn't break the skin."

"I wouldn't care if you did. I kind of like it there." He ran his hands lightly up her sides. "Can I mark you, too?"

"I _would_ care if you broke skin. You're not a vampire. Other than that, do what you please." She was surprised to see his eyes darken at her words, a look of proprietary ferocity crossing his beautiful face.

"I'll hold you to that," he said before stepping into the shower, bringing her with him.

* * *

><p><em>AN: So, here's the question. This was already the longest oneshot I've given you so far, and it's not done yet. There's another chapter. Do people think it's okay to break the continuity of the oneshots with a twoshot, or are we good leaving it here? Sigh. It's not cake, after all._

_Also, where the hell has everyone been lately? Wallflower? AmyLeigh? Northstar's been on vacation so she's excused. ;-) Let's see some more quality St. Berry stuff, people!_


	7. Dream On Part 2

_A/N: Happy St. Berry Week! What? You haven't heard of St. Berry Week? Well, of course you haven't, because I just invented it! In "honor" of all the Finchel nonsense that will suddenly be blared across our TVs this week as S3 kicks off, I'm indulging in an utter riot of St. Berry-ness. No promises, but I'm going to try to post something new and St. Berry every day this week. Anyone else who wants to join in this little act of revolt against Finchel, be my guest!_

_One caveat - my revision process usually takes weeks, so I'm not going to promise the quality of this week's offerings is going to stand up to the usual. But hey, we're celebrating, right? Right._

_Also, I have to give a huge shout-out to Elle Loves Glee for this epic bon mot I received in a PM: "He [Finn] is about as much a rock star as he is in Mensa!" Too perfect!_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

><p><strong>...But I Have Dreams (Part 2)<strong>

"What are we going to do about Jesse?" Hiram asked, leaning back in his armchair. He pinched the bridge of his nose again—this mess was giving him a headache and it didn't feel like it was going away anytime soon.

"What, exactly, are you asking?" Leroy was sprawled on the couch, an arm over his eyes. "The part where Shelby's blackmailing him with his future, or the part where he's upstairs alone with Rachel doing god knows what?"

"She's been alone with boys plenty of times before. What's got your daddy-senses tingling this time?"

Leroy snorted. "Didn't you see how he was holding her? The kid means business. I'm just glad we had 'the talk' with her and put her on birth control last year. If we'd waited, by now it might be too late."

"You think they're—"

"While we're in the house? Probably not. But who knows what they get up to after school, or on nights when we're not home."

"She's too young for this!"

Leroy glanced at his partner, fond amusement tickling the sides of his mouth. "That's not what you said last year. 'Kids are going to do what they're going to do.' Sound familiar? You're just upset because now the potential boy has a face and a name."

Hiram rubbed his temples. "Fine. Okay. Let's drop it for now. We can ask her later. What are we going to do about Shelby?"

Leroy sighed. "I'm not sure there's much we can do, to be honest. We can't protect Rachel from her forever, and Jesse was right. If we try to strong-arm Shelby, the results could be disastrous for him. This current mess notwithstanding, I actually think I kind of like the kid. I don't want to see his future destroyed because Rachel's mother is a vengeful bitch."

"It just seems so strange," Hiram said, shaking his head. "The woman he described is nothing like the Shelby we knew. She was flighty and unreliable, but she wasn't cruel."

"People change. Jesse was probably correct about what losing her dream of Broadway did to her. If she recognized that her unreliable nature had cost her her dreams, no doubt she would have taken steps to change that."

"But to go entirely in the opposite direction? Is it really possible for a person to change their nature that much?"

"I don't know." Leroy turned to look at his partner. "And we won't know unless we decide to meet with her, whether in confrontation or appeal."

Hiram shook his head. "I don't know if I can do that. Honestly—not after what I heard tonight. Jesse may not have the full story, but he's terrified. Anyone can see that. Whatever Shelby is to him, she's put the fear of god in the kid. He doesn't know what to do. I'm not happy about his part in deceiving Rachel, but that's something the two of them are going to have to work out on their own. He doesn't deserve to get caught up in our family mess, regardless."

"Shelby isn't part of our family," Leroy growled.

"She's part of Rachel's, whether we like it or not, and by extension that makes her part of ours, too. I know you're not happy about this—I'm not either. But we can't just put our fingers in our ears and hope it will all go away. Now that Jesse's admitted to the scheme, what is he supposed to tell her? This can't continue, and they're just kids. They need some help."

"So…a talk? Is that what's in order?"

Hiram nodded, though he didn't want to. "It looks that way to me."

They made their way slowly up the stairs, neither particularly looking forward to this conversation. Hiram hated going into any situation without knowing exactly what would happen, and there was no way really to know what the outcome of this talk would be. He barely had an idea of what he wanted to say. Rachel was a good kid, and he honestly believed Jesse was, too. But that didn't mean anything in the grand scheme of things. He suspected that all he and Leroy could do was support their daughter in whatever choice she decided to make, and that knowledge rankled. He didn't like not knowing what was going on, didn't like being unable to help Rachel when difficult things happened.

Rachel's door was closed when they stopped in front of it—just as they had left it. Hiram now wondered if that had been such a good idea. She had boys in and out of her room fairly often—more often than girls, to be honest—but Leroy was right. Jesse was different. Maybe it was the age difference, maybe it was the obvious chemistry she had never exhibited with any other boy. Hiram didn't know exactly, but he understood enough. Sometime soon, he and Leroy would have to sit down with her for a very different sort of talk. He was confident that their previous discussion about contraception and being safe had been taken to heart—Rachel was nothing if not responsible, after all—but now that there was an actual boy in the picture, they should probably reinforce the lesson. Jesse was a force of nature unto himself, and while Hiram generally trusted his daughter not to be swayed by anyone else's opinions or desires, he wasn't entirely sure he could make that same assumption where Jesse was concerned. The way they'd heard him talking to her earlier was an excellent example. He wasn't being rude or condescending, but he was ordering her to do something. That had set off warning bells for both himself and Leroy, and they hadn't been able to step aside and let the moment pass without interceding.

"I don't hear anything," Leroy murmured, raising a hand as if to knock and then dropping it again. "No music. No voices."

Also no bed squeaking. The thought came to Hiram's head before he could do anything about it, though he immediately wished he could banish it from his mind. Did Rachel's mattress squeak? He didn't know. If not, maybe they should replace it with one that did.

A muffled sound from the other side of the door got Hiram's attention. He strained to hear more, but could not. Just as Leroy raised his hand again to knock, the door opened.

"Oh!" Rachel and Leroy both jumped back, and she clapped a hand across her mouth. "You scared me," she said, exhaling deeply.

Hiram assessed his daughter with a critical eye as both she and Leroy caught their breath. She was wearing pajamas, and her hair was slightly damp. Her dark eyes, so startlingly like his own, were clear and untroubled.

"We were just coming to talk to you, honey," Hiram said. "Where's Jesse?" He'd neither seen nor heard the boy leave.

"Sleeping." Rachel stepped back and let her fathers peer around her. Jesse's black-clad form was stretched out along half of her bed, his head buried in one arm, dark curls spilling over his elbow. "It's late. I'm thirsty—I was going to get some water."

Hiram glanced at his watch and had to do a double-take. Hell, it _was_ late. Much later than he'd assumed.

"Thirsty?" Leroy asked, taking her hand and tugging her out into the hall. "Or upset?"

Rachel smiled. Her fathers knew her so well. "Just thirsty, I think," she said, closing the door behind her so Jesse could sleep. If her fathers tried to send him home, she was going to put up a fight. She wanted him beside her tonight. It had been a very long afternoon and evening, and all she wanted to do now was fall asleep with Jesse by her side.

"I know you need to get to bed, sweetie, but can we talk for a minute first?"

Rachel nodded, happy that for the moment they did not seem to be pushing her to get rid of the sleeping boy. She was willing to do just about anything if it meant getting to keep him. "Yes, daddy. I'm tired, but we can talk."

"Good." Hiram extended his hand and she took it readily, padding barefoot down the hall toward her fathers' room. "We won't keep you long."

"It's okay. I know a lot happened today." She sank down in Hiram's big reading chair, smiling as Leroy handed her a cup of water from their bathroom. Yes, they really did know her ridiculously well.

"Honey," Leroy began, "we want to know how you're feeling about…everything, I guess." He rubbed his head, searching for words. "Are you okay?"

Rachel chewed lightly on her bottom lip as she considered her answer. She had never been one to give her fathers single syllables or grunts in return for their questions, and she wasn't about to start now. "I'm angry," she admitted, "and probably still a little confused."

"That's understandable." Leroy looked slightly anxious, and Rachel wondered why. "Who are you angry at? Jesse? Us? Your mother?"

"Only her," Rachel said definitively. This much was abundantly clear to her, if nothing else. "You didn't do anything but try to protect me. If anything, you should be mad at me. I went behind your backs, and I'm sorry. I should have come to you first when I had questions." She played with the edge of her cup, worrying the rim between her fingers. "I just didn't want to hurt your feelings."

"You'll never hurt our feelings with questions. That's what we're here for." Hiram sat on the end of his bed, watching her intently. "You're so very special, Rachel. Your father and I knew almost from the day we met that we wanted children. We also knew how difficult that goal was going to be to reach. It took a long time, but when you were born and placed in our arms...that was quite honestly the best moment of my life. The three of us were suddenly a family. In that moment, as we held you, we looked at each other and we knew we didn't need any more children. You completed us."

Rachel's answering smile was quivery. There was no dearth of love in her family, and she knew that. Most kids had fathers who were either absent or distant—they didn't know how to show love very well. She was more than lucky to have two wonderful dads who had no problem with showing affection. No matter how much torment she received at school, through the years her home had always been a safe haven, a cozy place where she could be herself and know she would always be supported. She wasn't stupid, and she understood how lucky she was. Her wish to know her mother had nothing to do with any feelings of inadequacy about her childhood with her fathers.

"Really?" she said now, feeling the tight ache in her throat that told her tears were moving dangerously close to the surface. She swallowed against the feeling, willing herself to stay focused. Later she could cry her eyes out if she wanted, but not now. "I guess...I guess I always wondered if you'd rather I were different—more like you."

Leroy shook his head fondly. "More like us how? We raised you, little girl, and you are _exactly_ who and what you are supposed to be." He pulled on her hand and Rachel rose, sliding onto the arm of his chair and letting him slip an arm around her waist. She dropped a kiss in his thinning hair, smiling as he squeezed her. "If you meant to ask whether we ever wanted a boy rather than a girl—no." His dark eyes twinkled teasingly at her. "We wanted to know as soon as possible whether you were a boy or a girl so we could properly prepare your room, and I remember we both admitted to being excited about having a girl. We got to dress you in the most adorable girly outfits—frankly, you were the best dressed baby in the county if I do say so myself."

Rachel laughed along with her fathers. She'd seen the copious pictures of herself as a baby and toddler and she had to agree with that statement. Although the snapshot she'd seen of a mop-topped little three-year-old Jesse dressed as a ring bearer for a family wedding probably gave her a run for her money.

"If you're wondering whether we wish you were gay rather than straight, the answer is still no," Hiram added. "All we've ever wanted is for you to be who you are. It's why we hate the bullying at school so much. We never want other people's opinions to affect you so much that you stop being yourself."

Leroy tapped the back of her hand to get her attention. "Do you remember when you were six years old and you begged us to let you cut all your hair off so you would look more like us?"

Rachel hid her face at the memory. "Yes," she groaned, peeking out from between her fingers. "I can't believe I asked that!"

"It made sense at the time. You might not remember, but at school you were doing a project about families. One of the things you were supposed to do was color a family portrait. I remember going to parent-teacher night and seeing all the artwork displayed on the wall. The other kids drew pictures of themselves with a mom—sometimes with a dad or siblings as well. The drawings were exactly what you'd expect—everyone was the same race, and they were all so heteronormative that I could puke." He made a face, and Rachel laughed. "But then there was yours. You'd drawn all three of us exactly as we were—my dark skin, Hiram's glasses, even the nose you two share. You were so pure, Rachel. I thought at the time that you were just too young to know people expected you to be ashamed of how different we were from everyone else, but you know what? I was wrong."

Rachel frowned. "How were you wrong?" It sounded reasonable to her. Six was too young to understand things like that.

"You've never—_never—_been ashamed of us. It's like you just...refused delivery on that phase in your life. Your open heart and capacity for love never ceases to astound me, honey." Leroy squeezed her gently.

Rachel blinked. "Why on earth would I be ashamed of you?"

"That's exactly what I mean—that, right there. And that's why you're everything we could ever want in a child, Rachel. We're proud of your accomplishments—your grades, your voice—but it's your heart that continues to floor your father and I, every single day."

Rachel was crying in earnest now, and she didn't bother to hide the tears. "I worry," she admitted slowly. "What if I grow up to be too much like her? What if there's too much of her inside me, and I don't know it?"

"The fact that you're concerned about it tells me it isn't true," Hiram said softly. "But she's not a bad person, Rachel."

"Then why would she do that to me—to us? To Jesse?" Rachel demanded. She squeezed the cup in her hands, staring down into her reflection in the water. This was the part she couldn't understand, and the part that scared her. The woman her fathers described and the person Jesse was afraid of seemed like two different people. How was it possible for someone to change so much? If her mother could do it, could she? Might it happen without Rachel even knowing it? She liked herself more often than not. She didn't _want_ to change. Especially not into the kind of person her mother seemed to be.

"I can't give you a reason, princess," Hiram said. "I wish I could." He tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling in a pose Rachel knew all too well. He was gathering his control and trying not to cry. He hated not being able to give her the answers to her questions, and Rachel understood that. She tried not to ask questions that resulted in his frustration, but this time they were necessary. There was just so much she needed to know, and no one else to ask. "You have no idea how much I wish I could."

"Daddy, I'm sorry," Rachel whispered. "I just...I need to know. I need to understand why."

"I know you do. You deserve all the answers. Unfortunately, I can't give them to you."

"What can you give me, then?"

There was a short pause, and both men looked carefully at each other, their daughter between them.

"We can give you her name, if you like," Leroy said slowly. "I don't know what sort of help it would be at this point, but isn't that what you wanted in the first place?"

Rachel was about to argue that a name wasn't going to do anybody any good, especially Jesse, when the retort died on her lips. Another piece of the puzzle clicked suddenly into place. The whole picture was slowly coming into focus as each piece snapped into its slot. Her mother was someone who held power over Jesse. She had been chosen as a surrogate for her talent, looks, and IQ. She'd gone to New York but failed in her Broadway attempt and had returned to Ohio to do...something.

"I don't need a name," Rachel said slowly, blinking at her reflection in her cup of water. "I know who she is." As the realization sunk in, Rachel thought she would feel lighter—that the knowledge would somehow be freeing. Instead, she felt the weight of it on her shoulders, the knowledge of that name anchoring her to these uncomfortable feelings and the desperation she had erased, for now, from Jesse's eyes. Her mother was the demon she'd seen lurking under the depths of his beautiful gaze. Jesse had other demons, to be sure, but this was the one Rachel had banished with her touch and her love. Except it wasn't gone—not for good. Not while the spectre of a threat lingered over Jesse's head. "She's his coach. Ms. Corcoran."

Leroy and Hiram exchanged solemn looks that Rachel did not catch. "Yes," Leroy said finally. "I don't know anything about a coach, but that's her name. Shelby Corcoran."

Shelby. It was a funny name, Rachel thought. Almost unisex. It wasn't terribly usual or feminine. She'd never seen the woman, but she'd heard Jesse's stories about her legendary temper and insistence on perfection. At the time, she had yearned for a coach like that herself; for someone willing and able to take her talent to the next level. Now Rachel shuddered. If this kind of conniving blackmail was what came with that sort of coaching talent, she didn't want it. She didn't want anything to do with it.

"Rachel?" Hiram said hesitantly. "Rachel, are you okay?"

Rachel considered the question. All in all, she wasn't okay. The whole situation wasn't okay. Jesse might have his future ripped out from under him at any moment, and all because he'd chosen her over her mother. Guilt weighed heavy on her heart. It wasn't fair. No matter how he had come into her life, he was hers now and she didn't want to give him up. She _couldn't_ give him up. But her mother was offering a terrible choice: lose Rachel or lose his future. She couldn't blame him for attempting to say goodbye. Not under those circumstances. But what were they going to do now?

"I...don't know," she said honestly, looking from one concerned face to the other. Her fathers cared. Her fathers were behind her, no matter what, and she took heart in that. "I think I need some time to think about all of this." There was more she had to think about, too, but they didn't need to know the specifics. Not tonight. She wasn't going to keep her physical relationship with Jesse a secret, per se, but there was no need to blurt it out right now.

"I think that's an excellent idea." Leroy rose from his chair and kissed her head. "It's late. Are you going to sleep?"

"I'm going to try, anyway." Rachel eyed both her fathers carefully, waiting for them to mention the boy currently occupying her bed. Neither did.

"Tomorrow is a half-day inservice if I recall," Hiram said instead. "You don't have to go if you don't want to. I know this is a lot to process."

"Thanks." Rachel stood and hugged her fathers. "We'll see how I feel in the morning."

"Let us know if we need to make an appointment with your therapist."

"Or move him into the spare room," Leroy added. Rachel couldn't quite tell if he was joking.

"Remember that we love you, princess. And whatever you're thinking or feeling, you can always come to us." Hiram paused. "We're going to talk about Jesse soon—the three of us, so please be prepared for that. It won't be tonight or tomorrow, but it's coming."

"Noted." Rachel hid a small smile. She was willing to endure an awkward conversation with her fathers if it meant they weren't going to kick Jesse out tonight. She could totally live with that.

As Rachel left and shut the door behind her, Leroy sighed and dropped back into his chair. "How smart was that, I wonder—ignoring the fact that Jesse St. James is asleep in her bed?"

"If they're sleeping, they're not doing anything else." Hiram rubbed his eyes. "Let's deal with this one thing at a time. Shelby first—then we'll tackle the enigma wrapped in a riddle shrouded in mystery that is Jesse St. James."

"Quoting Churchill might be a little extreme." Leroy wrapped his arms around his partner. "Whatever else he might be, Jesse's still just a boy. And right now, I think the both of them could use a break. We'll scold them about being inappropriate some other time. If they take comfort in each other, let them have it tonight."

* * *

><p>Rachel heaved a sigh of relief as she entered her room and locked the door behind her. She snapped off the overhead light, leaving the space lit by only a small table lamp. Jesse had fallen asleep waiting for her to dry her hair after their shower, and she didn't blame him. Sometimes she still had the urge to chop it all off, though she doubted she would ever do it.<p>

He was adorable as he slept, she thought, crawling up next to him on the bed. She sat cross-legged for a minute, doing nothing but watching him sleep. His face was buried in the pillow and hidden by his arm, and his curly hair spilled softly over the crook of his elbow. His fitted black t-shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing a line of pale skin above the top of his jeans. He was barefoot, too, and Rachel reached out slowly, skimming her fingertips lightly across the skin above his jeans. He was beautiful to her, even asleep, even with his face hidden. She couldn't even begin to explain her relief at knowing he was hers—that his goodbye kiss had been erased with a new hello, a new start to this painfully intense relationship. There was a lot she didn't know about him still, and she accepted that fact. Maybe she would never know every facet of Jesse St. James. But after tonight she knew he was hers, and for the moment that was enough.

He twitched slightly as she stroked her fingers across the skin of his lower back, and she smiled softly to herself. His body fascinated her—possibly even more now that she had become acquainted with it in such a personal way. She watched him sleep and chewed lightly on her lower lip as she thought.

She didn't really feel all that different, to be honest. If losing her virginity was supposed to make her feel a certain way, she didn't know what that might be. She felt...tired. Utterly drained both physically and emotionally, as if coming from a vigorous rehearsal so demanding that it left her with nothing in her energy stores. She felt like she needed a chance to replenish what had been exhausted this night, but she doubted it was the sex that made her feel so drained. It was just...all of it. Jesse saying goodbye. Her refusal to let him go. Her fathers' admission, and the pieces of the twisted puzzle clicking into shape. Jesse's deception. Her mother's name. All of it. Everything added together into a swirling maelstrom of questions with no good answers, and she wanted to forget all of it. Push it to the back of her mind until she could reasonably deal with it. Some other day, she told herself. Not tonight. Tonight she wanted nothing but to lie down with Jesse, to keep him with her as she slept.

But he was sprawled on top of the blankets, and that currently wasn't doing either of them any good. Rachel smiled softly and ran a hand through his tousled curls, then lay down beside him. She pulled his arm away from his head, hearing his sleepy protest as he tried to revert back into his previous position. She kissed his cheek before he could bury his head completely in the pillow, peppering soft kisses across his jaw. "Jesse," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Jesse, wake up. Just for a minute." One sleepy blue eye opened, and she smiled again. "There you are."

"Rachel." His voice was thick with sleep, the whisper of a lisp apparent once again. "You stayed."

"It's my room, silly," she said, though she understood what he meant. She kissed his forehead, breathing in the scent of him. He smelled like Jesse, and like sleep, and she wanted nothing more than to wrap herself in his arms and stay there for the rest of the night. "Come on—let's go to bed."

"Already here." He groaned lightly and reached for her, his movements languid and slow, and Rachel easily ducked away from his hands.

"Not yet," she said and, feeling bold, she reached for the fly of his black jeans. She'd never tried sleeping in jeans, but she didn't think it would be terribly comfortable.

Jesse pulled her hands gently away and lowered his own zipper, flashing her a lazy, sleepy smile. "If you do it, I'll wake up more than you want me to," he said. "Trust me on that."

"Are you insatiable or something?" As the words left her mouth, Rachel regretted them. They sounded too harsh, though they were meant to be playful.

But Jesse seemed to take no offense. "Only around you," he said quietly, and he shucked his jeans off. Wordlessly they climbed under the blankets, and Rachel reached over to snap off the lamp on her nightstand. As the room went dark, Jesse's hands slid around her hips, pulling her close into his body. She shivered with the intense rightness of the sensation as she nestled into the circle of his warm arms, his body already loose and pliant with sleep. He held her firmly, as if he had absolutely no intention of ever letting her go, and Rachel smiled to herself, hiding the curve of her mouth against his cotton-clad shoulder. He snaked a leg between hers, tangling their limbs, and something seemed to snap into place. In that moment, Rachel was sure she was exactly where she was supposed to be. She was his. He was hers. Nothing else mattered in that moment.

"You are beyond beautiful," he murmured into her hair. "Please don't ever doubt that."

"I don't doubt _you_," she replied. "Now go to sleep."

"What about your dads?"

"They didn't say anything about it, and I didn't offer." Rachel kissed his shoulder and snuggled deeper into the warm circle of his arms.

"We're going to talk, right? I hurt you, Rachel."

"I know," she said, "and we're going to talk about it, yes. But not tonight. Please, Jesse—tonight I just want to be held."

His arms tightened, and Rachel felt a hand stroke softly through her hair. "I can do that. For the rest of forever, if you like."

Rachel wanted to tell him not to tempt her; that she was just about ready to take him up on that offer. It felt amazingly perfect to cuddle close to his bigger body, creating their own heat between them. Her familiar bed almost seemed that much softer, that much more comfortable, with Jesse in it, too. She said a silent prayer of thankfulness that her mattress didn't squeak, before she closed her eyes and rested her head near Jesse's. She could feel his gentle breath in her hair, and she liked it. His body was fascinatingly alive—not like hugging a stuffed animal or body pillow. She could hear him breathe, and if she lay her ear just right against his chest, she could even hear the rhythmic pulse of his heart. He shifted slightly now and then, little movements of his head or arms. Rather than distracting, she found it soothing. He was hers, now and forever. She supposed that someday—years and years from now—she might get used to the feeling of Jesse wrapped so tightly around her, but at the moment it was a new and heady experience, and one she was instantly addicted to. So much so that she almost wanted to order him out of her bed that very moment, lest she be unable, in the morning, to let him go.

"Your dads are good guys," Jesse mumbled into her hair, and she could tell by his lazy voice that he was almost completely asleep by this point. "They love you."

"Yes," Rachel agreed. Had Jesse even known she left the room? She doubted it.

"You don't need a mother, Rachel. Just them. You have more than you know already."

She smiled softly into his shirt. Yes, she'd come to the same conclusion. Almost, anyway. Her fathers weren't the only thing she needed. She needed Jesse, too. "I don't get along well with other women anyway," she said, raising a hand and stroking his cheek. "Bad track record. Sleep now. We can talk more in the morning."

"Can I buy you breakfast?"

Rachel had to giggle. "We're not in a hotel, Jesse."

"But still."

His voice was so full of sleep that she seriously doubted he'd remember this conversation in the morning. "If you must," she said, kissing his shoulder. "Now go to sleep."

"Tell me you'll be here when I wake up."

She was pretty sure her heart melted at that moment, if it hadn't before. "Of course I will. I love you, Jesse."

"Love you," he mumbled back, and Rachel felt his body shift slightly as consciousness left him. She snuggled deeper into his arms and closed her own eyes. Tomorrow they could deal with the aftermath. Tomorrow they would figure this whole mess out—together.

* * *

><p>"What the hell are you trying to pull?"<p>

A pair of brown eyes widened, and Rachel faltered for an instant before slamming her showface up and refusing to let anything crawl behind it. She could reach behind Jesse's mask now—knew the almost imperceptible fingerholds to catch, knew how to read the murky shadows lurking behind his eyes—but she'd be damned if she let this stranger do the same to her. No matter how disconcertingly similar those big brown eyes were to the ones she saw in the mirror every morning. She wasn't going to let a stranger get the better of her. She squared her shoulders, itching for a fight. Anger churned in her belly—righteous indignation both on her own behalf and for Jesse's.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do, and you'd sure as hell better have a good explanation," Rachel snapped, stalking closer to the elegant woman. "My boyfriend is a wreck, my fathers are ready to rip your head off, and I'm almost ready to let them." She folded her arms and forced herself to stare at what could very possibly be an older version of herself. It was all there—the full mouth, the big dark eyes, the long dark hair. Shelby had a better nose, she thought with resignation. She was also taller, and had a better bustline. Of course.

"Rachel, look—"

"No!" Rachel wanted to squeeze her hands together but she forced herself to keep her arms crossed. Giving away her anxiety wouldn't help her win this battle. "You shouldn't even know my name!"

An expression of profound surprise crossed Shelby's sharper face. "I'm your mother, Rachel," she said, as if nonplussed.

"You were my fathers' surrogate," Rachel argued, denying the plea in the older voice. "Nothing more. Anything else we might have been to each other was lost the minute you forced Jesse to play along with your idiotic plan."

Suddenly everything in Shelby's body relaxed, and she laughed. She actually _laughed_. Rachel could do nothing but stare. That definitely wasn't supposed to happen. When she'd woken that morning next to a still-sleeping Jesse, she'd known exactly what she had to do. Shelby wanted her. Well, she was going to get her—in the worst possible way. Rachel didn't want to meet the woman who had given her birth, but she couldn't see any other way to free Jesse from the hold Shelby had on him. Her fathers could do nothing. Jesse could do nothing. This was up to her, and her alone.

"Is that what this is about?" Shelby asked, and she lowered herself with careless grace into an auditorium seat. The house lights were dim and no one was on stage, but Rachel could see each line of her mother's elegant form perfectly. Part of her yearned for that kind of confidence of motion, and another part of her rejected it, purely because it came from Shelby. "Sweetie, guys like Jesse are a dime a dozen. He's a wonderful actor, but that's why I chose him to help me. He's only the means to the end, and the end is us—you and me, together as we should be. Don't let a boy get in the way of what really matters."

"Jesse matters," Rachel bit out through clenched teeth. Before yesterday, she might have worried at what her mother was insinuating, but not now. She trusted Jesse. She couldn't do otherwise after feeling how tightly he'd held onto her, begging her not to leave him.

"Jesse St. James doesn't care about anyone but himself. I'm sorry to have to break it to you, but nobody can change a guy like that and it's pointless to try. He was happy to do this for me. Don't waste your time thinking about him—you won't see him again now that we have each other."

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is."

"Isn't," Rachel insisted. "He's so much more than you give him credit for. If you can't see that, you don't deserve him just as much as you don't deserve me."

"Rachel—"

"No." Rachel dropped her hands to her hips. "You've been playing us all like puppets, and you don't get to talk anymore. We can do it for ourselves, thanks."

"Honey, there are reasons why I couldn't come to you myself-"

"My dads told me about the contract," Rachel interrupted, cutting her off. She didn't want to know Shelby's side of the story. She didn't need to know it. "How dare you think you can suddenly break a binding legal document just because you felt like it? Doesn't your word mean anything to you?"

"Doesn't family mean anything to you?" Shelby snapped back. Rachel saw it—the glimmer of frustration in those eyes so much like her own. She was getting to Shelby; getting under her skin. She was more than happy to rip the showface right off the older woman, if given the chance.

"Plenty, and I've already got one, thanks."

"Rachel, I'm your _mother_."

"No," Rachel said firmly, intent on denying that fact no matter how many times Shelby said it. "You're not. You're a surrogate, like I said. I don't have a mom, and I don't need one. I have two wonderful dads, a boyfriend who loves me, and I don't need anyone else."

Shelby shook her head slowly, as if presented with a kindergartener who refused to admit that the sky was blue. "Jesse doesn't love you," she said, pronouncing each word distinctly. "Jesse was meant to bring you to me, nothing more."

"He does love me," Rachel said with utter conviction. Nothing Shelby had to say could change her mind. Before yesterday, sure. Before yesterday, just about anyone could have convinced her that Jesse St. James was only playing her for a fool. She wasn't stupid, and she knew they were worlds apart. The two of them shouldn't work, but they did. Wonderfully, in fact. "He said so last night, and I believe him. He also told me you were blackmailing him with his future, and I think that's completely despicable. How could you do something like that? You're a teacher! You're supposed to create futures, not destroy them."

"He'll live," Shelby said with a shrug. "Pretty boys like that always do."

"That's not fair!"

"You can stop defending him, honey. I can guarantee he wouldn't do the same for you." Shelby moved to stand. "But it's okay—I understand. You're young, and he's suave and good-looking. That's why I chose him. You're going to have to accept that he's not boyfriend material, though."

"No," Rachel insisted. Shelby's continued taunts were getting harder and harder to take. She didn't doubt Jesse, but she knew how she sounded—like a weak, gullible little girl insistent on believing a lie even in the face of incontrovertible proof. "He loves me."

"Do you mean he had sex with you?" Shelby raised an eyebrow. "I warned him about that, but boys _will_ be boys. It's not the same thing at all, Rachel."

"You're a horrible person," Rachel snapped, feeling her patience wearing thin. "I'm sick of this! You want to know what? Yes, I admit it. I slept with him. Not that it's any business of yours. And I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Because _I love him_, and I know he loves me." She shook her head, feeling furious tears prick behind her eyes. "You want to know where he is right now? At my house, with my dads. Willingly. Whatever you try to do, they're going to help him. They believe in him, just like I do." Rachel sniffed, refusing to let herself cry. This was not a situation in which tears would be useful. "Look, Ms. Corcoran, this is what's going to happen."

Shelby opened her mouth to protest—probably at the use of the formal name, Rachel suspected, but she didn't let her mother talk. "I'm turning around and leaving Carmel, and I'm never coming back. You are going to leave Jesse and me the hell alone—got it? Both of us. I don't need you, I don't want you, and I'm not going to agree to this plan of yours, whatever it is. Whatever you think you want from me, it's not going to happen. Jesse's staying at McKinley to finish out his senior year, and you're not going to do anything to mess with his scholarship, his college, or his future in any way. In return for leaving him alone, I'm granting one concession." She paused. She didn't want to do this, but she didn't think Shelby would be willing to leave Jesse alone without at least some sort of incentive. "When I turn eighteen, just like it says in the contract—then, and only then, will I consider talking to you. I can't promise any more than that."

"Rachel—" Shelby reached toward her, but Rachel shied away from the outstretched hand.

"No," she repeated. It felt like her word of the day. "That's it. We're done here."

* * *

><p>Jesse was in her room when Rachel returned. He jumped up from her desk chair and pulled her into his arms. "Where did you go?" he demanded. "You said you'd be here when I woke up."<p>

Rachel dropped her heavy bag to the floor and rubbed her aching shoulder. Even the short trek from her car to her room had been enough to hurt. She cupped his cheek in her hand and stroked her thumb across his skin. His beautiful eyes were watching her, and she gazed silently back for a moment. No, she couldn't doubt him. Not even after everything Shelby had said. He was here in her house—here in her arms—and Shelby would never, ever know this side of him. All she ever saw was the showface, but Rachel had seen beneath it.

"I'm sorry," she said, and she rolled herself up on her toes to kiss him softly. His mouth was warm and welcoming, and she lingered in the kiss. Nothing would ever feel as right as coming home to this. And someday—someday they'd get to have that for real. To come home to each other, to sleep nestled in one another's arms every night, not just as a one-time fluke. She longed for that day, and yet, she was in no hurry either. Things were good now just as they were. They had plenty of time to figure the rest out later. "I had errands that couldn't wait."

"Are you going to enlighten me?" Jesse pulled away and tried to grab the strap of her bag, but Rachel slapped his hand away. "Your dads said you didn't have to go to school when I asked where you were. They didn't know either."

Rachel took a deep breath. "I went to see Shelby."

Jesse froze. "You did what?"

"Shh." She touched his cheek again, feeling the tension reappear in his jaw. "It's okay. My dads told me last night, but they didn't need to. I was able to guess who she was without their help."

"Rach, I thought we went over this. You don't want a mother like that." He dropped his head into her hand, and she stroked her fingers through his hair.

"I know," Rachel said. "I didn't go to make friends. I went to tell her to leave you alone."

Jesse's head shot up. "You can't be serious."

"I'm very serious." Her second hand joined the first holding his head, and she tipped his face to meet her gaze. "Jesse, your future was on the line because of me. I couldn't live with myself if something bad happened to you. This whole mess isn't your fault."

"It isn't yours either," he said, twisting his head free of her hands. His arms slid around her waist and he pulled her close. "You're not responsible for what she does. She may be your mother, but you're strangers, Rachel."

"I know that, but I still couldn't just sit back and wait to see what she would do to you. I'm sorry, Jesse, but you can't ask me to do that." She rested her head against his shoulder, feeling the warm firmness of his body through their shirts. He was everything she ever wanted, and she wasn't going to lose him over a meddling adult—especially a virtual stranger.

Jesse let out a long breath, the exhalation leeching some of the tension from his body. "I understand," he said quietly. "If the tables were turned, I wouldn't be able to sit back either."

"Thank you for understanding." Rachel smiled against his shirt. He was perfect, in his own way. And he was hers.

"What's in the bag, then? Some devious device to warp her mind and make her agree?"

Rachel grinned. "No. This is the result of my second errand."

"Which was?"

She hefted the bag in her arms again and dumped it on the bed, spilling out a number of textbooks. Senior-level textbooks. "I stopped by McKinley's library. Shelby's sure as hell not letting you back in Carmel after what I said to her, so in order to pass your senior year, you're going to have to actually do some work."

Jesse looked about as terrified as she'd ever seen him, and Rachel hid a smile. "It's okay," she said, leaning forward to kiss him again. "We'll do it together."

"No offense, Rach, but you're just a sophomore."

"An extremely motivated and intelligent sophomore." She let him pull her to sit against him as he sifted through the pile of books with his other hand. "Once I set my mind to something, I don't stop."

"Case in point," Jesse murmured softly into her hair, "I'm still here."

"I couldn't let you say goodbye. Not like that—not with no explanation."

"I'm not complaining." Jesse heaved a resigned sigh. "Not even about the math."

"Really?"

"Not as long as we do it together."

Rachel smiled again and pressed her palm against the hand holding her tightly. She was definitely okay with that.

* * *

><p><em>AN: One thing - I'm on Pacific Daylight Time, so I think I'm literally one of the last people still up and posting every night while most of you are already well into tomorrow. So when I say I'm trying to post every day, that's every day by my time, kapish? :)_


	8. Hello

_A/N: Okay, before anyone says anything, there *was* an update on Tuesday. It was just for my Spring Awakening story rather than either St. Berry story. Yes, I know Melchior/Wendla is not the same thing as St. Berry, but sometimes my muse doesn't let me make those decisions. Apologies to everyone who isn't cross-reading both fandoms! This update is technically Wednesday's, because yesterday my car died and had to go in for some emergency fixes, and I was stupid enough to leave my poor netbook in the car, which was why there was no update yesterday. I will update on Saturday to make up for the lost day in St. Berry Week!_

_Also, credit where credit is due. Rachel's "I feel more like me..." line is from my favorite romantic comedy, D.E.B.S. Normally I don't do rom-coms, but this one is a gem! Any Brittana fans, you have got to watch that movie!_

_One more thing - this is **not** a sequel to the Throwdown fix I did a couple of chapters ago, but it **is** in the same vein, so hopefully those of you who liked that one might like this one, too. I love all the support St. Berry Week is getting! You guys are the greatest!_

* * *

><p><strong>Taking Chances<strong>

"Cut the butter, Benedict Arnold."

Rachel pulled up abruptly, a sinking feeling tightening in her stomach. Kurt, Tina, Mercedes, and Artie were all arranged together in a tight cluster to one side of the choir room, and she eyed them warily. Something wasn't right here, but she hadn't been expecting anything bad in particular. Wracking her brain, she tried to remember whether she'd done something lately that her friends would be upset about. Nothing in particular came to mind—nothing they'd know about, at least.

"We heard about your new boyfriend," Kurt continued.

Oh. That. Rachel felt her showface automatically snap into place. Finn was the only person she'd told about Jesse, so if everyone else knew, he had to have spread the word. She scowled inwardly, careful to keep her expression as neutral as possible. Inside, she was furious. What she'd told him was supposed to be private—a conversation between two friends. It wasn't meant for everyone to know—not that there was anything she could really do about it now.

"Look, Rachel, we're all happy that you're happy," Mercedes said, but her snappy, displeased voice said otherwise. "But we've worked too hard in glee club to let you throw it all away on a relationship that might not even be real."

Rachel straightened her spine and braced herself for the upcoming confrontation. If it was a fight they wanted, they'd get it. She wasn't going to give in easily—not if it meant giving up Jesse. Sure, she'd just met him, but already she knew deep inside that he was going to change her life. Something inside him spoke to something in her—a spark, an instant connection. Whatever it might take, she wasn't giving that up. "Why?" she asked cautiously, throwing the question out to the whole group though Mercedes had been the one to speak. "Because he's in Vocal Adrenaline?"

"Their motto is '_Aut neca aut necatus eris_,' which loosely translates to 'murder or be murdered.'" Kurt rose and stepped forward, coming to stand next to Mercedes.

At least they have one, Rachel thought, though she did not voice the comment.

"They give their dancers human growth hormone," Tina broke in.

Okay, that was just ridiculous. Dancers were supposed to be lithe and powerful; fiercely compact. Bulking them up like football players wouldn't be an asset.

"Look, we're not saying the dude is playing you," Mercedes continued.

"He's playing you." Kurt's dry interruption sounded more bored than anything else.

"We just think that until Regionals are over, we can't risk the possibility that he is." As if trying to make up for Kurt's snide comment, Mercedes' voice was gentler—almost conciliatory.

"None of us want to go through what happened at Sectionals again," Tina said, with the vague impatience of someone trying to explain a math problem to Brittany.

Rachel waited for them to finish saying their piece. Her fathers had always taught her never to interrupt, no matter how wrong or pigheaded the other person was being. First you let them talk, then you proved them wrong. She tightened her mouth slightly, wondering just how to do that this time. Nothing she said about Jesse would sway them—she knew that much. She could talk about how wonderful he was, how perfect they were for each other, until she was blue in the face. No one would believe her. They'd just say that he was deceiving her—that he was a good liar and she was a fool for falling for it. She had to find another tactic.

"Okay, look," she said finally, "Jesse and I might not be true love, but what if we are?" She was pretty sure Jesse was, in fact, her first real, true love, but she was willing to let them think otherwise if it made them happy. "I know who I am. How many chances at this am I going to get?"

However, appealing to their compassionate sides apparently wasn't the best tactic. Kurt tightened his folded arms. "If you don't break up with him, you're out."

Rachel felt her showface falter, and her jaw dropped. "You can't kick me out!" Were they serious? They were really going to try to kick her out because of her choice of boyfriend? Nobody had said a word about Finn dating Quinn back when her only goal was to help Coach Sylvester destroy the club. What was so different about herself and Jesse? Why would they do this to her?

"No," Artie said, speaking up for the first time, "but we can all quit if Mr. Schue doesn't."

Clearly they had discussed this ahead of time. Their arguments were all planned out—they knew what they were going to do. They had been lying in wait for her, ready to pounce the moment she walked through the door. Rachel floundered, groping for her showface again, trying to find a good comeback—something—anything. "Well, good luck winning without me," she said, knowing the bluff sounded weak. If they'd already made up their minds to threaten her with removal from the club, they had to have thought about their chances at winning.

"Everyone is replaceable," Kurt said coldly. "Even you."

That was the breaking point. Rachel stared at the four people she'd considered some of her closest friends. These were the original kids who had signed up with her to willingly be part of glee club. The five of them had been in this from the start—before Finn, before the cheerleaders and the rest of the football players. They were a united front against the popular kids in the group, a sort of brotherhood existing between them because of their shared outcast nature. The fact that it was these four and not the cheerleaders who were demanding she either break up with Jesse or leave was deeply wounding. "How could you do this to me?" she whispered. The showface was gone, but she couldn't find the necessary anger to bring it back. They were asking her to make a choice she didn't think she was capable of making. It was a choice she shouldn't _have_ to make. Her boyfriend was her own business. It had nothing to do with them.

"How could you do this to _us_?" Mercedes shot back, walking toward her and stopping just a foot away from Rachel's face. "We're a team, and all you've ever wanted was for us to be great, and be a part of something special. Now is that still true, or not?"

Was it? Was that truly all she wanted still? Rachel searched her friend's face. She honestly didn't know anymore. Finally realizing that she was never going to have Finn, even with Quinn out of the picture, and then meeting Jesse...it had thrown her. Jarred her. Jesse was so different from everyone else she'd ever met. He was just as driven as she was, and just as talented. He was bitingly funny and frighteningly intelligent, and he knew and understood her in ways she couldn't even begin to fathom. The fact that he was hotter than hell didn't hurt, either.

One thing was certain—she wasn't giving him up. No matter what it cost her, she was going to see this through. Glee club was the best part of her day and the highlight of her world, but realistically it wasn't her life. Soon enough she'd move on, leaving high school behind, and with it glee club. Her true passion was the stage, and though this was a nice substitute while she waited for her big break, it wasn't her only chance to shine. She didn't want to lose it, but she wasn't going to sacrifice Jesse for the chance to fight inferior performers, albeit friends, for solos.

But Rachel was convinced that it didn't have to be a choice. Not yet. Normally she would never dream of considering Alicia Silverstone a role model, but in this case her character Cher from Clueless was definitely a wonderful inspiration. Cher considered her report card merely a jumping-off point for negotiations. Well, Rachel was about to take a page from Silverstone's book.

"Look," she said, firming her showface and drawing her shoulders back slightly, standing as tall and square as she possibly could, "it's clear nothing I can say will change your minds. So let's try this—meet him."

"Not interested," Mercedes said, turning around and walking back to the double row of chairs.

"Unlike you," Artie added, "we're not keen on fraternizing with the enemy."

"Meet him," Rachel repeated. She knew they were going to take some convincing and she was ready for the fight. This was too important to let slide. "Admit it—aren't you even a little curious about the leader of Vocal Adrenaline?"

"Male lead," Kurt corrected blandly.

"He doesn't have a female lead, so it hardly matters." Rachel felt the corners of her mouth curving into a small, satisfied smile despite the fact that she was trying to maintain a poker face. Jesse didn't have a female lead because none of the girls in his troupe could keep up with him. Not vocally, and not in terms of star power, either. "Like me, he's woefully alone at the top."

Kurt snorted. "If he's got your massively inflated ego as well, then I'd say you're perfect for each other."

"So meet him and find out." Rachel knew she was taunting them now, but she didn't terribly care about their reasons as long as they agreed. She felt sure that once they met the force of nature that was Jesse St. James, they would understand. They had to.

"Rachel, Rachel, Rachel." Kurt shook his head in mock regret. "I've no doubt that the boy can talk pretty and give lovely speeches. I'm sure he has you floored, and that's what you hope will happen to us, too. I'm equally sure he's probably good looking and you feel a little thrill being on his arm. But you're seriously blind if you can't see what's in front of your face. He comes from a different league—hell, a whole different _world_. Whatever game he's playing, you're going to end up the loser. If you want to take that chance, we can't stop you. But we're not going to let you bring us down, too. This is a choir, not the Rachel Berry Show."

"I can't believe you would say that to me." Rachel stared hard at the delicate boy with the porcelain complexion. They had never been good friends, but she'd felt some kinship with him by dint of his outcast nature. They were very much alike, despite Kurt's unwillingness to admit it. It hurt that he was saying these things to her face without the slightest hint of remorse.

"The truth hurts, princess."

Rachel fought the urge to bite her lip. They were playing hardball, and she didn't know if she would be able to salvage this game. "Just once," she said, staring hard at each member of New Directions in turn, "just _once_ I'd like a little support."

"You want support, buy a better bra." Mercedes folded her arms. "We're telling you to ditch the dude or don't come back."

It was time to counter ultimatum with ultimatum. Rachel felt her heart hammer against her ribs. Her father's brother Les played poker, and when she was little he always told her never to make a bet unless she already knew what everyone else was holding.

Sorry, Uncle Les, she thought. She didn't have the luxury of holding back this time.

"Here's the deal," she said, putting a hand on her hip and hoping they didn't see the way her fingers clutched the material of her dress. If they knew she was nervous they'd call her bluff, and that would be disastrous. "I'm bringing Jesse to school later this week, and you can meet him. After that, if you still think I need to get rid of him...I will." It was a bald-faced lie; she refused to even consider such a thing. But they didn't need to know that.

"Seriously?" Tina glanced at Artie; the two of them seemed to at least be considering her proposal. Rachel held her breath. Kurt and Mercedes were the real ringleaders here and everyone knew that.

"For the record, I am _not_ happy about this," Mercedes said. She sat down and eyed Rachel. "But if you insist on this last-ditch effort to show us a douchebag can change his spots, I'll humor you." She paused. "I'm not changing my mind though, no matter how suave he thinks he is."

"Ditto." Kurt's aloof tone was also a clear dismissal. "This changes nothing. But we'll play along if that's what it'll take to convince you."

"We're your friends, Rachel," Tina said, though Rachel did not trust the falsely-upbeat note in her voice. "We're just looking out for you."

No. No, that wasn't true at all. They were looking out for themselves, and Rachel knew that. Well, if that was how they wanted to play, she'd do her best to win at their game. Jesse had been itching for the chance to meet her friends—to show them up, really—and they had just provided it.

* * *

><p>"Jesse?"<p>

"Mm?" His mouth was currently attached to her left earlobe, and in retrospect Rachel thought perhaps it wasn't the best time to interrupt him, but she plunged ahead anyway.

"I need to ask you something," she said, her hand rising to grasp his shoulder. She meant to push him gently away so they could talk, but somehow her fingers were instead winding in his shirt and then his mouth was on her throat, his breath tickling warmly across her skin.

"I'm gorgeous, I'm clean, and I'm totally into you," he said, the words feathering against skin dampened by his mouth. "What more do you want?"

"Nothing," she whispered. It was true, too. At the moment, she wanted nothing more than him. "But we need to talk."

Jesse reluctantly pulled away from her throat, and she saw his clear blue eyes appear, darkened with desire. "Do you have a kink or fetish you want me to know about?" A twisted smile crooked across his pink mouth. "Whatever it is, I'm probably down."

Rachel felt herself redden. She was too inexperienced to even begin to guess what sort of...fantasies...she might ever desire to play out, and the easy way he talked about it made her a little embarrassed. "Jesse—no!"

"Ah." She heard the smile in his voice as he pulled her close. "In time, then."

Rachel worked to slow her rapid heart rate, which had become elevated at the simplest touch of his hand. Already he knew her so well—knew just how to touch to elicit the strongest responses and deepest feelings. He played her like an instrument, or like an actor worked a stage. And yet he seemed to intrinsically know just where to draw the line—how far he could push her comfort level without causing distress. He was a genius at that sort of thing, and Rachel reveled in it. She felt more comfortable with him than perhaps anyone else in the world, and yet she was uncomfortable, too. There was an intense, dizzying level of intimacy between them, and it was something she'd never really experienced before.

Now Jesse slowly righted himself on her bed, pulling her with him. "What is it?" He paused. "Did I scare you? I told you, sometimes you have to tell me if I go too far. I can't always guess."

"You've been wonderful at it so far," she mumbled, ducking her head to hide the embarrassed red flush that tinted her cheeks. "That's not what I wanted to talk about."

Jesse's dark, desire-filled gaze turned amused. "You're thinking too much again. I told you—you need to learn to get out of your head and into your body. It's what you do on stage, isn't it? When you act or dance?"

Rachel nodded. He was right—she needed to work on being more "in the moment," particularly when they were being physical. Most of the time she lost herself in the touch of his hands and the intensity of his mouth against her skin, but today she had too much on her mind. Nothing—not even his debilitatingly amazing kisses—had been able to distract her.

"They want to kick me out of glee club," she confessed, squeezing her hands together tightly. No prelude, no explanations. Jesse appreciated her bluntness, and she never felt the need to temper it when she was with him.

"Who? Why?"

"My so-called friends." Rachel wrinkled her nose. "Because of you."

"I did warn you not to tell them." Jesse sighed. "Other people our age, they're too immature to understand what we have."

"I didn't set out to tell them; I'm not that stupid." Rachel leaned back into the warmth of his arms. He was perfect, and she loved how he felt curled around her. The sensation of another living, breathing body pressed against her own was both overwhelming and completely comfortable. "I told Finn, and I didn't really have a choice about that. He cornered me and asked me out. If I'd just shot him down without an excuse he wouldn't have believed me. You're the only explanation that makes sense."

"I _am_ delicious," Jesse said, and Rachel felt a smile cross her mouth, still tingling from his kisses. He certainly was. If Finn had said something like that to her, she would probably have tried to punch him. But somehow from Jesse it didn't sound quite so baldly obnoxious as it would from anyone else. He was stating a fact, nothing more. "So you used me—and rightfully so—to keep your old crush's paws off you, and he went and blabbed to everyone else?"

"That's what it looks like." Rachel exhaled a puff of air in frustration. "What am I going to do? I won't give you up, Jesse. I can't. But I don't really want to give up glee, either."

"We." Jesse's voice was firm and definitive as it sounded from behind her.

"What?"

"Not you—we. We're a couple, right?"

Rachel smiled and turned in his arms. He had to loosen his grip on her, but she comforted herself with slipping a hand into his. "Yes."

"Then we do this together. It's not just you against the world anymore."

Rachel felt herself fall just a little bit more for the self-assured, cocky boy currently sitting on her bed and holding her hand. Yes, he pushed her. He made her feel more alive—oddly enough, he made her feel more like herself. "Really?"

"Yes, really." His smile was warm and soothing, and it touched something tender inside her. "Unless you're only here with me because you want a taste of danger—risking your future with your show choir and all that."

Rachel shook her head. Never. She bit her lip and moved closer to him. "I'm here because I feel more like me when I'm with you...than I do when I'm with me."

"Rachel..." His voice was softer than she'd ever heard it, and she felt him pull her flush against his body again. He lay them down across the bed, and she snuggled against his warm firmness. "You're young—we both are. I suspect feelings like that will change as we get older."

"Maybe." The future wasn't what she cared about right now. Not so big a future, anyway. She was more concerned with the rest of the week—whether she was going to have to make a choice between Jesse and glee club, or try to live a lie and pretend she had broken up with him when she really had no intention of doing so. "But loving you won't."

"I'm glad to hear that." His arms tightened, and his mouth moved to find hers. Rachel met him eagerly, hungry for his kiss. His lips met hers, and it was perfect. He was exceptionally good at this, and Rachel felt like she could lose herself for hours in the intensity of that simple touch. His mouth moved slowly over hers, claiming her, demanding her full attention without any attempt at roughness. It was a siren call she could not ignore, and she gave herself over fully to the beauty of the moment.

"They don't know what they have if they're threatening you," Jesse whispered, still so close that his lips brushed hers as he spoke. He traced the curve of her lower lip with his tongue, then captured it gently. Rachel felt more than heard the soft noise of pleasure humming in her throat, and she let him press her slowly onto her back. With Finn or Puck, such an act had never felt quite so intimate. But with Jesse, even a brush of fingertips was enough to send sparks of electricity shooting through her body. She shivered and pulled him closer as he settled on top of her. He was lithe and strong, not so big that he swallowed her whole, but big enough that she definitely felt him pressing against her absolutely everywhere. Every time he touched her, she was finding it harder and harder to say no, to tell him to stop. That had never been a problem for her before—Puck would gladly have taken her virginity months ago if she'd let him—but with Jesse it was somehow different.

"I want you," she said, surprised at the breathless quality in her own voice.

"Good." He dragged a hand slowly down the curve of her side, settling on her hip. "A little anticipation makes it so much better."

Without warning his hand tightened, and he pulled her smoothly up against him, rocking her onto her side and pressing a leg between hers. Rachel exhaled a swift breath that was almost a moan, and she shuddered with the sudden, intense sensation that sent not just sparks but literally fireworks of electricity shooting along her nerves and deep into a spot low in her belly where tension was starting to gather. "Jesse..." she whispered, not entirely sure whether she was telling him to stop or to keep going. She wanted both—she craved his touch, but she was afraid of what that might mean. They'd only been dating for a few weeks. Was that enough time to allow this sort of thing? She didn't have any particular compunctions against having sex, but she didn't want him to think she was too easy. Not that that seemed like a particular hangup of his—not the way he was touching her now.

"It's okay," he murmured, his voice soft against her skin. The buzz of his words vibrated through her. "I won't do anything you don't want me to do." He didn't remove his leg, but he gentled the grip of his hand on her hip and he kissed her tenderly. "I know you probably don't hear this enough, but I respect you, Rachel."

Enough? Try ever. She slipped her arms around him, holding him tightly. She supposed it was possible—just maybe—to imagine a better boyfriend, but she wasn't having much luck at the moment. He was everything she thought she could ever want. Talented, self-assured, bold beyond belief, and so loving. She was also beyond addicted to the sexy fall of his curls and the way he looked at her with those clear blue eyes, as if he could read every thought in her head without even trying.

"Thank you," she said, knowing the thought might sound silly, but she had nothing else she could possibly say to that.

"You're very welcome." The fond pleasure in his voice told her that he understood completely, and she relaxed against him. "Now," he continued, "what are _we_ going to do about your glee club problem?"

Rachel nestled against him as he removed his leg from between hers and shifted their bodies into a less distracting position. "I asked them if they would meet you," she said. "I thought if they just had a chance to see how good we are together, they'd have to understand."

"We're more than good. We're perfect. It's kismet, Rach." Jesse slid his tongue along the shell of her ear, and she giggled at the tickling touch. "It's not a bad thought, though. They only know me as Jesse St. James, their competition for Regionals. No matter how they treat you, they know you're their star and they're afraid of what this—" He squeezed her, indicating their budding relationship. "—might mean for their chances. You're the linchpin holding them together, and they know it."

"I'm the star, and I'll admit that," Rachel said, so relieved that she was free to say such things without fear of rebuke from Jesse. He understood. More than anyone else, maybe, he understood. "But I'm not the linchpin. That's probably Finn. Everyone likes him."

"The linchpin of a group isn't the person everyone likes. That's...I don't know...the mascot, maybe. The linchpin is the person without whom the group would fall apart." Jesse slid his hand slowly down her arm, finding the tender inside of her wrist and stroking softly with his fingertips. "You've mentioned that your principal has said New Directions needs to place at Regionals in order to remain a school club, right?"

Rachel nodded, though she was incredibly distracted by the tantalizing way his fingers swept across the incredibly sensitive skin of her inner wrist. It was the smallest of touches, and yet surprisingly intimate. She raised a hand to his mouth, unable to resist touching him in return, and he kissed her fingertips softly.

"You're the best one in there," he said, his voice low but firm, and his lips moved against her fingers as he spoke. "You have no competition in that group. It's okay—you can admit the truth around me, and I won't call you arrogant or conceited. That's just the way it is." The corners of his soft mouth turned up in a teasing smile. "I have no competition in Vocal Adrenaline either, but you're light years ahead of the rest of your group. Don't forget that I saw you perform at your Sectionals competition. You outshine them all." He kissed the tip of one finger, and Rachel moved her hand to his cheek. "Without you, there's no way the rest of them would place at Regionals. So you _are_ the linchpin. You're their only chance at success, and without success, the club is over."

He had a point. Rachel nodded again, biting her lip as she thought. She'd always felt a certain amount of responsibility for New Directions, but now she felt it grow even stronger in light of Jesse's comments. Without her, they wouldn't win. _With_ her they probably wouldn't win either—they were going up against Vocal Adrenaline, after all, and while Rachel knew she was good she was realistic enough to understand that, taken as a whole, Vocal Adrenaline was better. When they won, she'd do her best not to hold it against Jesse. It wasn't his fault they were competitors. She was going into this competition bound and determined to beat Aural Intensity, and if by some miracle New Directions also happened to best Jesse's choir...well, that would just be icing on the cake.

But none of it would happen without her, and Jesse knew it as well as she did. If her team kicked her out, they were going to fail and then the club would be over. No matter how pigheaded they were being, she just couldn't let that happen. Not without a fight.

"What do you suggest we do, then?" she asked, chewing lightly on her lower lip as she thought.

"Don't do that." Jesse's voice was soft, and he cupped her chin in a gentle hand, tugging her lip free of her teeth. "If you must bite something, bite this." He offered his fingertips, as she had a moment before, and she kissed the pad of his index finger. "As for what to do—your idea of presenting us as a united front is sound."

Rachel was halfway listening, but the feel of his fingers against her mouth was incredibly distracting. She licked his fingertip, then bit softly, as he had instructed. "Isn't that distracting?" she asked.  
>"I have incredible concentration skills." Jesse's voice was smug. "Though with you, I have to say, they're tested more than ever before."<p>

"Really?"

"Really." He slid his fingers along her jaw, then into her hair. Closing his hand around the dark strands, he brought her close and kissed her. "You, Rachel, are marvelously distracting."

She felt the same about him, and she kissed him back with everything she had. He was delicious, sweet and addicting, and she never wanted to be apart from him. "Jesse..." she murmured, and once again she wasn't sure if it was a plea to stop or to keep going. They were supposed to be talking about something, but was it really all _that_ important compared to this?

He kissed her again, softer this time, and his mouth lingered against hers for a moment as he breathed. "I think," he said, "I have an idea."

"What is it?"

"Kiss me first." Jesse unwound his hand from her hair and slid his arms around her waist. "I'll tell you before I go home tonight."

* * *

><p>Quinn walked into the choir room, Brittany and Santana at her back. She felt happy enough—maybe she wasn't a Cheerio anymore, but she was still ringleader of the popular pack in glee club and that had to count for something, right? Finn had been giving her looks lately like he wanted to forgive her and get back together, but it was too soon to send him corresponding signals back. Let him stew a little, she counseled herself. Let him figure it out for himself first. Then she'd be in the perfect place to start luring him back.<p>

Glancing around the room as she entered, an unfamiliar face met her eyes. She checked herself for a moment, which made Santana and Brittany look up from their giggled conversation and follow the direction of her gaze.

"Who's the new hottie?" Santana's voice was smooth, and Quinn immediately recognized the sound of her teammate on the prowl. Santana brushed past her, slinking toward the new guy. Quinn settled into a seat where she could watch the action and considered the unknown boy.

He was definitely, as Santana had said, a hottie. He had curly hair left just long enough to fall into a delicious tousled mess—knowing what she knew about primping, Quinn had no doubt that he spent plenty of time in front of a mirror crafting that carefree look. From this far away she couldn't discern the color of his eyes, but it hardly mattered. He had a strong forehead and pretty pink lips that, at the moment, were curved into a dryly amused smile as he watched Santana approach him and claim a chair next to his. He lounged in his seat, slouched a little low in the chair, in a pose of perfect ease. Though he was unknown—the new guy—he didn't show an ounce of nerves.

"What's your name, pretty boy?" Santana cocked her head to the side coyly, and Quinn knew the expression on her face without any difficulty. She was trying to ascertain whether the new kid was checking out her boobs. Quinn watched him, too, but his amused gaze never dropped below Santana's chin as far as she could tell. He flicked hsi eyes over her face once, but his expression did not change.

"It's J," he said, and his voice when he spoke was full of the easy assurance his posture conveyed.

"What's the J stand for?"

"For now," he said with a polite smile, "that's all you need to know."

"Come on," Santana said, in the voice Quinn knew was meant to be seductively cajoling. "You can tell me."

He glanced at her again, though nothing about his face changed. "Maybe by the end of rehearsal."

Santana did not respond well to rebuffs, even polite ones, and Quinn saw her expression darken. "That's if we let you stay, pretty boy," she said. "You haven't auditioned yet."

Most of the other members of the club had filtered in by now, and Quinn glanced around. They were all watching the exchange between Santana and the new kid, J.

"I hear tell that anyone who auditions for New Directions gets in," J said, sounding smug.

"That's very true," another voice cut in, and Quinn turned her head to see Mr. Schuester stride into the classroom. "Sorry I'm late. Did I hear something about a new member?"

"J," the new kid said, and he stood up to shake hands with their teacher. "I came to try out, although it's not much of an audition if everyone gets in. Eva Peron here is right enough about that."

Santana opened her mouth, and Quinn knew instantly from the expression on her face that she was about to go all Lima Heights Adjacent on his ass, but J cut her off before she could start.

"Not that I wouldn't get in anyway.. At my old school, no one could keep up with me vocally."

All of the heads in the room swiveled to look at Rachel, who was sitting across the room from the new guy. She stared back at them blandly, with the face Quinn was starting to realize meant she was hiding something. She didn't know what it might be, but she didn't really care, either. There was no telling with Rachel, and she was so unpopular that Quinn usually didn't even try.

But, for once, Rachel said nothing, and everyone's attention slowly turned back to J.

"Okay then," Schue said. Quinn watched her teacher. That was his upbeat voice—the one he used when he was trying to look on the bright side of a bad situation or keep himself from saying something rude to a student. "Did you want to sing something for us?"

"Not particularly." From the depths of a messenger bag, J produced a large manila envelope and handed it to Schuester. "My credits speak for themselves. And, for future reference, I will only duet with a female lead worth my time and attention. If she's not up to snuff, it's not happening."

All heads in the room were swiveling back and forth between J and Rachel, and Quinn fully expected to hear the annoying whine of Rachel start up any moment, but the dark-haired girl was curiously silent. Quinn couldn't understand it. Rachel _never_ passed up an opportunity to tell the world how wonderful she was. Now a sexy new boy was sitting here practically begging her to do so and she was keeping quiet?

Schuester toyed with the envelope a moment before opening it. He was clearly nonplussed by J's refusal to sing, but New Directions needed to keep their numbers up and he wasn't going to just dismiss the kid out of hand.

"UCLA, huh?" he said, raising his eyebrow. "Their performing arts program is difficult to get into."

"Yes," J said calmly, "I know. For most people, that is. I was also accepted into Tisch, but UCLA offered a full ride. Money isn't a problem in my family, but a scholarship is still a scholarship."

"What's Tisch?" Mercedes asked.

"Seriously?" Finally Rachel spoke, and her snappy voice was full of the irritation Quinn knew was par for the course with their resident diva. "How can you call yourself a singer and not know that? Tisch School of the Arts in New York is where Broadway legends are born!"

Mercedes made a face at the mention of Broadway. "_There_ you are," she said irritably. "I thought you might have laryngitis or something." She turned to address J. "One thing to know, new kid—Rachel Berry is never this quiet."

"Oh, I already know that." J slouched even further in his chair.

"How?" Artie's eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he glanced at Rachel. She crossed her arms over her chest and pressed her lips together. Clearly she wasn't going to enlighten anybody.

"There's a DVD in that envelope that might explain things," J said lightly.

Mr. Schue leafed through the papers until he found a DVD in a thin cardboard sleeve. He popped it in the player in the corner of the room. "We don't have a projector checked out right now," he said. "Does everyone want to come stand here?"

The group crowded eagerly around the TV. Quinn watched as Rachel and J both hung back, letting the others stand closer to the screen, though they did not speak or even look at each other.

Mr. Schue pushed play, and after a moment a scene came into view. It was a fancy living room, all in white, with a shiny piano in pride of place. J entered on screen and sat at the piano, scooting over slightly on the bench, and the crowd of students murmured softly as a short dark-haired figure followed and sat next to him. It was Rachel—the high-quality camera showed every detail of her face, which was curiously composed as she settled herself next to J. From this angle they couldn't see the piano keys, but Quinn saw J's arms lift as he settled his hands to play.

An instant later, the slow strains of Lionel Richie's "Hello" flowed from the screen and into the room. When J began to sing, the room became utterly silent.

He wasn't just good. He was breathtaking. Quinn could see the emotion in his eyes as he sang—he was clearly enjoying himself immensely. It wasn't just that he tried to put himself in the song, either. He was bathing in the spotlight, exulting in the reality of having a camera and Rachel's attention focused on him. She suspected he was loving it even more, now—loving being able to watch as New Directions and their director saw how wonderful he was. Even tremolo, his voice was sure and strong. It was tender and sweet, evoking the theme of the song, and when Rachel joined in, they blended absolutely perfectly. It was like listening to a little piece of heaven, and that was saying something because Quinn really _really_ did not like that girl, and she wasn't at all sure she liked J much either despite his looks.

As the song continued, Quinn felt a hand tug gently on her sleeve. She turned slightly just as Mercedes did the same, and they put their heads together to whisper.

"He's almost as obnoxious as she is," Mercedes said.

"And just as good," Quinn whispered back.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Mercedes' whisper was full of conniving intent. "This is the perfect opportunity to make her kick the kid from Vocal Adrenaline to the curb. I don't care how talented the other guy is; this one's, like, her perfect match."

"Seriously." Quinn watched the screen, only half listening to the music. She'd heard enough to know what she needed to. She hadn't participated in Rachel's glee-vention because she honestly didn't care if Rachel was dating the enemy just as long as she left Finn alone so Quinn could figure out how to win him back. But as far as she was concerned, J was a better alternative because he went to this school and thus was around all the time. Yes, she thought, watching the figures of J and Rachel singing at the piano. This was really an optimal arrangement. He was cocky and irritating, and he would keep Rachel far too busy to even think about bothering Finn again.

"We've got to hook them up," Mercedes breathed.

"Are you whispering about getting J and Rachel together so she forgets about the Vocal Adrenaline kid?" Tina murmured, leaning toward them. "Artie and I already decided that's the plan."

"Oh, that's definitely the plan," Kurt whispered, joining the powwow. "Someone just needs to explain that to Santana and Brittany."

Quinn glanced at her Cheerio friends. True to form, they had sidled up on either side of J and they were watching him with predatory expressions. Well, Santana's was predatory. Quinn doubted Brit could ever look dangerous no matter how hard she tried.

The song ended, and Mr. Schue raised his eyebrows as Rachel and J—both on screen and in real life—stood to take bows.

"Thank you," J said before any applause was given or approval voiced. "I think I can speak for everyone here when I say that was better than anyone else in this room could do. Now, I have some very clear guidelines as we move toward Regionals. First—I'm not duetting with anyone but Rachel. Second, if this club puts song selections to a vote, I get two instead of one because my judgment is better than most of yours. Third, any and all costumes will be at least mostly black, if not all black." He gestured to his black ensemble, which Quinn had to admit looked excellent on him. "My old director put us in hot pink shirts once, and I really can't rock that look."

Mr. Schue blinked several times. He tented his hands in front of him, and Quinn could see from the set of his shoulders and the expression on his face that he was going to ask J to leave. The kid was just too obnoxious—not really worse than Rachel, but she had at least waited several days before starting to make her imperious demands. She glanced at Mercedes and Kurt, asking them with her eyes to do something. If Schuester let J leave, there was no way they'd be able to talk him into dating Rachel.

"Look, J—" Schuester started, but Kurt abruptly cut him off.

"Mr. Schue," the delicate boy said, stepping through the pack of students and breaking the spell of the performance, "let us handle this one, okay? Trust me." He stopped in front of J. The new kid was a head taller than him, but Kurt stared at him with a calculating, fearless expression. "You—you're abrasive, brash, annoying, and I can tell you now that most of the people in this room already want to throttle you." He paused. "But we're willing to offer you a deal." The sides of his mouth twisted upward in a confident smile. "Date Rachel, and you're in."

"Please date her!" Artie hid his mouth behind his hand as he half-coughed the plea, but everyone knew his voice.

J's beautiful, expressive mouth drew into a smile Quinn didn't understand. It seemed...oddly triumphant. It was really too bad he was so irritating, she thought. He was better looking by far than either Finn or Puck. She didn't begrudge Santana and Brittany their preoccupation with him. Even she thought it was a pity they had to give something that pretty to their resident dwarf. "I'd be happy to," J said, and he glanced at Rachel.

The smile planted firmly across her big mouth echoed J's, and Quinn began to feel a suspicious tickle in her belly. It wasn't just the pregnancy—this was definitely suspicion. Why did she feel like a very large bomb was about to drop?

J held out his hand, and Rachel crossed the crowd to take it. It was a gesture of familiarity, and Quinn narrowed her eyes. What was going on here?

"Maybe I should clarify my statement a little," J said once Rachel was at his side. He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back. "I meant that I'm happy to accept your permission—your demand, in fact—to date Rachel Berry. As far as joining New Directions, though, I politely decline."

"What?" Kurt looked like someone had just told him Marc Jacobs was no longer fashionable. "But—"

J winked at Santana. "Now might be a good time to tell you what the J stands for. It's my first name and my last name, in fact. I'm Jesse St. James, star of Vocal Adrenaline and Rachel's boyfriend."

A riot of protests followed his words, and Mr. Schue looked almost like he was ready to join in before he regained his professionalism. "Cool it, guys," he said, raising his voice slightly. The buzz of objections lowered slightly in volume, but it did not end. "Rachel—is this true? This wasn't a very funny joke, if so. We really thought we had a new recruit."

J—Jesse, Quinn corrected herself—pulled Rachel against his chest and wrapped his arms firmly around her waist. It was a protective gesture Quinn recognized in an instant. Finn had never really held her that way, but she knew the tension in Jesse's arms and the warning glint in his eye for what they were.

"It wasn't meant as a trick on you, Mr. Schue," Rachel said. "It was meant for certain people who had the nerve to threaten to kick me out of the club just for dating Jesse."

Jesse's arms tightened slightly, and Quinn watched a muscle in his jaw quiver. His gaze was intense and direct. The easy slouch from before was nowhere to be found now, and the fierce warning written plain as day across his handsome face almost made Quinn shiver. Finn had never—_never_-looked like that. Not even when she was taunted in the halls for being stupid enough to get knocked up. He'd never stood by her the way Jesse was standing by Rachel.

"Guys?" Schuester looked around at the rest of the club. "Did you really do that?"

"She's dating the enemy!" Kurt protested.

"I didn't realize the enemy was so hot," Brittany said softly. "I'd date him. Or at least sleep with him."

The protective glower on Jesse's face eased slightly, and Quinn thought she saw the hint of a smile touch one corner of his mouth. "I'm taken," he said, "but thanks for the compliment."

"Guys, you can't just start kicking people out of the club. It's not right, and besides, you don't have that kind of authority. Only I do."

"But we can all quit if Rachel doesn't dump him," Artie said firmly. "We're not risking a recurrence of what happened at Sectionals. Either he goes or we do."

Tina, Mercedes, Finn, and Kurt all nodded their agreement. Puck and the other two football players glanced at each other but said nothing. Quinn didn't know if the three of them had even known about Jesse St. James.

"Let me remind you," Jesse said, his solemn, angry face back in place, "that you just now asked me to date her. You were all for the idea until you realized I was from Vocal Adrenaline."

"I'm not completely for it," Finn said, crossing his arms and squaring to his full height. The tall factor often intimidated other guys, but somehow Quinn doubted it would have any effect on Jesse.

Nor did it. Jesse stared back at him blandly, refusing to rise to the threat. He kept his arms wrapped firmly around Rachel and she made no move to leave them. "You're Finn Hudson," Jesse said. "I can tell. Well, I've got something to tell you. You never deserved the time Rachel spent crushing on you, and I'm sorry that you're jealous, but the fact that she's mine isn't going to change. Second, she can make her own decisions about who she chooses to date. Your input is neither needed nor wanted."

Quinn watched as Finn's mouth opened and closed several times. He had nothing to say. Jesse's arms were firm around Rachel, and he dropped his head for a moment to press a soft kiss against her hair. It was a tender gesture—something Finn had done before, but never so sweetly, or with such intent. Yes, the kid was obnoxious. Yes, he was overbearing and conceited and so full of himself that it almost made Quinn physically ill. But Rachel was the exact same way, and the boy actually seemed to like her. More than like her, in fact. He was looking at her with a tender sort of affection Quinn was positive she'd never, ever, seen in Finn's eyes.

"Stop," she said abruptly.

The room stilled. Quinn felt a rush of satisfaction. She might have lost the juice out in the hallways of McKinley, but here in the choir room she still had it.

"Let them have each other," she said. She both felt and saw the incredulous stares of her fellow choir members, and she rolled her eyes. "Look, can't you see what's right in front of you? They're both sickeningly rude, irritating, and overbearing. They deserve each other. Just let them be, and let's get on with rehearsal."

Through the silence, Rachel's voice broke through. "Why are you doing this?" It was gentle—soft and unaccusatory.

Quinn watched her for a long moment. No, she decided, she wasn't going to tell the dark-haired girl that she'd seen something deeper inside Jesse—something she herself had never experienced despite being the popular girl everyone adored. If Rachel didn't know by now what she had, she didn't deserve to know. They weren't friends, after all. Rachel had reached out several times, but Quinn wasn't interested. Rachel had nothing to offer that she herself wanted.

"I think you know why," she said instead. Let Rachel wonder whether it was an allusion to her short-lived relationship with Finn, Quinn decided. That _was_ part of her reasoning, after all.

"There," Schuester said. "It's decided. If Quinn and Rachel both say yes, the decision's made. Now, Jesse—it was nice to meet you, but you can't stick around for rehearsal. Get out of here, and treat her right. Got it?"

"That's something you don't have to remind him about," Rachel said, and she craned her neck to smile at the boy holding her.

"Come kiss me goodbye before rehearsal." Jesse tugged on her hand, and Rachel followed him out of the classroom.

Once they were angled so they couldn't be seen from inside the room, Jesse pulled her into his arms.

"It worked!" Rachel said, smiling as she squeezed him tightly. "Jesse, you're a genius!"

"I know." He pulled away far enough to look at her. "Are you okay?"

She frowned. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"The way they treat you—it's not very nice."

Rachel shrugged and slid her hands over his where they rested on her hips. "This was nothing. I'm pretty used to it."

"But these are supposed to be your friends, not your enemies."

"Sometimes in this school there's not a lot of difference between the two." Rachel touched his cheek, feathering her fingertips over his mouth. Sometime last night, before her dads came home, she'd discovered just how arousing it was to nibble and suck on someone else's fingers, and then to have the tables turned and have it done to hers. She was entranced by his mouth—it was absolutely perfect.

"Rachel—"

"Shh." She pressed her fingers against his mouth, stilling his protest. "This is what I want. You can't fight all my battles for me, though I'm more than grateful for your help with this one."

Jesse let out a long sigh, and she could see the regret in his eyes. "I wish I could do more."

"Kiss me, then. That always makes me feel better."

Jesse lowered his head to comply. She didn't have to tell him twice.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Before people ask, yes, I realize I had to invent some time between the music store meeting and the point at which the ultimatum from New Directions was issued. Realistically Rachel and Jesse just hadn't had enough time to be at a place in their relationship to be capable of this yet, so I plugged a couple of weeks in there rather than the day or two span that the episode covers. Mwah! Till next time, duckies!_


	9. Prom Queen

_A/N: So to end St. Berry Week with a bang, here are (that's right) *two* new chapters. But there's a catch! They're not finished yet. You have to review with your vote for which to continue, and the winning story start will get a Part 2 over the weekend. As always, all standard disclaimers apply._

_This first one is in answer to a request from Northstar61, who wanted a "fix" to Prom Queen. I've been hesitant to try my hand at this particular episode because it seems like everyone else in the world has already done it, but Northstar gets what Northstar wants!_

* * *

><p><strong>Get Me Back<strong>

There was a point at which you really just had to settle, and Rachel decided, as she trolled the handful of secondhand shops in Lima with Mercedes for prom dresses, that she was well past it. If she wanted to go to her junior prom she was going to have to settle—something Rachel Berry did not do well, or with grace—and that was the end of it. She and Mercedes were getting thrift-store dresses so Sam wouldn't feel bad, there would be no limo or after-party, her corsage was coming from Mercedes' mother's garden, and not only was she not going to the dance with Finn, her whole date situation was decidedly confusing.

Jesse was back. And of course, as with everything that concerned Jesse, he complicated things far beyond what they already were. Was she supposed to feel this...drawn to him, even now? He didn't even need to touch her—every time he so much as looked at her, it was like a fresh rush of adrenaline right to her nerves. His apologies had been many and varied, which she wasn't particularly expecting. After that first unexpected reunion in McKinley's auditorium in which he hadn't exactly apologized, though he did express remorse, the "sorries" had come boldly and frequently. Rachel hadn't honestly thought he had it in him. She was willing to consider forgiving him without a formal apology because she had a forgiving nature and because he was Jesse, but also because she didn't really expect to ever get one.

Apparently she was wrong. Later that day a bunch of pink and silver balloons had arrived at the choir room for her, with a note attached. It was unsigned, but she'd know his wonderfully sloppy scrawl anywhere. The note was a beautifully worded apology, with an invitation to dinner at Breadstix. A small postscript urged her to stand him up for dinner if it would make her feel better—that he wouldn't mind. But Rachel knew how it felt to be deceived, and she wasn't about to turn the tables on anyone. Revenge wasn't her cup of tea.

When he'd caught sight of her that night across the crowded restaurant, Rachel knew by the light in his eyes that he'd been expecting her to take the out and stand him up. He rose from the table when she approached, even though there was no chair to pull out for her, and Rachel took the hand he offered. That first touch after so many months and the warm, open expression on his beautiful face had clinched the deal. He was forgiven. She didn't quite know if she could trust his earnest protestations of continued love and she wasn't sure about his motive for getting back in touch, but all that would come in time. For the moment, she was just happy to be in a place where they could sit with each other without all the tension and pent-up resentment that had festered for far too long.

The next morning he had shown up at her door with fancy coffee and fruit salad, insisting on the right to drive her to school, and she hadn't been able to say no. He'd offered to help her ditch class, suggesting they could drive over to Carmel and egg the current members of Vocal Adrenaline in retribution for their part in his past misdeeds, but Rachel had only laughed and demurred. And just like that, the past was over. Once they could laugh about it, the egging lost its symbolic meaning and all the bad feelings that went along with it.

He'd driven her home that day, too, and had listened to her talk about her day as if it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever heard. It had been too long since someone really sat down and listened to her, and Rachel craved the attention. Even before her breakup with Finn had really been finalized, things hadn't felt this good. He was like a little boy, sometimes—he got distracted easily, and he needed constant reminders to focus. Despite his assertions that he really wanted to be with her, Rachel couldn't always believe him. The threat of Quinn was too near and too real, and then there was always Santana to consider, too. Even before she learned that Finn had slept with her the year before, Rachel was never quite comfortable with the self-professed Queen Skank of the Cheerios hovering.

Now Rachel browsed the racks of secondhand dresses, most of them woefully out of style, and chewed idly on her lower lip as she thought. There had been plenty of problems in her relationship with Jesse the first time around, but jealousy and suspicion had never been among them. She trusted him completely on that front; he'd never given her a reason not to. When he was with her, his eyes never strayed. She supposed it was impossible to know for sure, but when he looked at her as she talked she had a hard time doubting him. It was like, for that moment, nothing else in his world existed.

"What are you thinking about so hard?" Mercedes asked idly as she perused a different rack. "Normally you only chew on yourself in the middle of storyboarding choreography." She wrinkled her nose. "God—is there _anything_ in here above a size two?"

Rachel pointed vaguely toward the back of the shop. She hadn't told anyone yet about Jesse asking her to the prom, and she wasn't sure how to bring it up. Obviously Mercedes and Sam would have to know if she was thinking about changing their plans. She just really couldn't decide what she wanted to do.

No, she admitted, that wasn't actually true. She _wanted_ to go to prom with Jesse. That wasn't in question. But she didn't want to go back on her agreement with Mercedes and Sam, and ditching them now would feel awkward. She didn't want to put either of them in a situation where it might look like they were dating when it wasn't true. This whole just-friends-prom-date thing worked as a threesome, but not as a twosome. That was just too close to couplehood for McKinley's student body to understand.

"Screw that," Mercedes said, dropping the swatch of tulle in her hand and staring at the back of the shop. "I am _not_ creeping to the back of the room like a second-class citizen. If they're hiding the big-girl sizes back there out of some sort of sense of shame, we're going somewhere else."

"There's not many more places to go," Rachel reminded her. "There are five secondhand clothes stores within an hour's drive of Lima, and we've already been to three of them. We're running out of choices."

Mercedes folded her arms. She did not look at all pleased at the situation, and Rachel couldn't blame her. Though there were more options in her size, she wasn't finding anything she was willing to wear—let alone something she _wanted_ to wear. Most of what they'd found was from the mid-90's—Mr. Schue's era, not hers—and couldn't even be worn ironically, it was that bad.

"This is impossible," Mercedes said. "Even you haven't found anything."

"Because I refuse to wear huge puffed sleeves in violent aqua," Rachel said, grimacing at the taffeta disaster that was next on the rack. "Seriously, I didn't think we were going to see abominations this bad until we started arguing with Quinn about bridesmaid dresses."

"And for once we're agreed on something fashion related." Mercedes scowled. "What are we going to do?"

Rachel shrugged. "You look in the back. I see if there's something salvageable up here. When we don't find what we want—which I'm ninety-eight percent sure will happen—we try the next store and hope for a miracle."

"Do you have anything against praying right about now?"

"For a prom dress?"

Mercedes rolled her eyes. "For an entire prom _miracle_."

Two hours later they sat morosely in a booth at a diner near Dalton, both _sans_ prom dresses. Rachel picked at her food, not really hungry. Mercedes had insisted on comfort food since they couldn't find dresses, but Rachel had never really been a comfort eater. She turned to music when she had problems, not grease or sugar.

"We're doomed," Mercedes said, playing with the last few tater tots on her plate. "I don't know if even a prom miracle can help us now."

"You found something that wasn't so bad." Rachel tossed her fork down. "Remember that purply-fuchsia one at the second-to-last place we tried? It looked pretty good on you."

"I guess." Mercedes made a face. "I just thought it would be like magic—you know? That I'd see the perfect dress from across the store and I'd just know."

Rachel giggled. "Are we talking about prom dresses or Prince Charming here?"

Mercedes laughed too. "I guess both, since neither of us have either of them right now. How pathetic are we?"

Rachel hesitated. That was an opening if she ever heard one, but still she hung back slightly. Mercedes had been one of the glee club members most opposed to Jesse's presence the first time around. What would she say to his return? "Actually," Rachel said slowly, trying to gauge the look on her friend's face, "I wanted to talk to you about that."

"Prince Charming?" Mercedes laughed. "If this is a plot of yours to get Finn to go to prom with you instead of Quinn, forget it. He's not breaking up with her, and even if he wanted to, there's no way she would let him. Not before prom. She's not giving up that crown, and she knows Finn is her only chance to get it."

"It's not that." Rachel wished she had the ability to read minds right about know. Was there any possible way Mercedes could know the truth? "There's another guy," she admitted slowly. "He asked me to go with him."

Mercedes squealed and clapped. "Girl, why didn't you tell me first thing this morning? That's so amazing! So, are you coordinating your outfits?"

"I haven't actually told him I'll go with him yet," Rachel said. "I was waiting to hear what you had to say. I don't want this to be awkward."

"Why would it be awkward?" Mercedes reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "I know we agreed to do this in a group, but at least this way we'll both have guys to dance with. Otherwise we'd be fighting each other all night for Sam's time—you know we would."

Rachel smiled softly. Yes, Mercedes was probably right.

"So who is it?" Mercedes pressed. "It's not someone in glee, because they're all paired up already." Her eyes widened, and a horror-struck look crossed her face. "You didn't say yes to that Jacob kid, did you? Please tell me you didn't! You're not that desperate, Rachel."

Rachel wrinkled her nose. "Ew. No, it's not Jacob. His public campaign to be my prom date petered out when I threatened to sic both my dads on him. It's a college guy, actually."

Mercedes' face lit up even further. "A college guy? And he's willing to take you to your junior prom? Why didn't you tell us you were seeing someone?"

"We're not exactly dating," Rachel said quickly. "He goes to school out of state, and he's back for summer—maybe for longer. He hasn't figured that part out yet." She carefully chose not to reveal Jesse's misfortune to Mercedes. That was his issue to either share or keep private as he chose.

"Well, but still," Mercedes said. "Why would you need our permission to go with someone else? This sounds perfect."

"I didn't want things to be awkward, like I said. After all, we had an agreement." Rachel held up a hand as Mercedes opened her mouth to reassure her. "And...it's Jesse."

Mercedes' mouth snapped shut, and all she did was stare for a long moment. Rachel felt her face flush, and though she tried to hide the deepening color, she couldn't quite do it.

"Are you serious?"

Rachel nodded slowly. "Look, I know you guys don't like him. I understand that. I'll tell him no for prom if you want—I'm okay with that."

"When did this happen?"

"He got back into town a couple of days ago," Rachel admitted. "Or, at least, that's when he showed up at McKinley. He's been the picture of remorse, Mercedes. I wouldn't have ever ever expected it of him, but he's apologized. Multiple times. We talked about it, and I've forgiven him for what he did to me last year. We've moved on, and I'd like to think we can learn to be friends. But I won't go to prom with him if you really don't want me to."

"I don't..." Mercedes shook her head. "This is whack, Rachel. You know that, right? Your relationship the first time around wasn't even a relationship. He was using you to spy on us—to bring us down."

Rachel shook her head quickly. "No," she said, "he wasn't. That's where you're wrong. He wasn't completely honest with me—with us—but that doesn't mean he was spying. You're right that he had an ulterior motive, but you're wrong about what it was. Shelby had asked him to get close to me so that he could lead me to her."

"Your mom?" Mercedes stared. "That's what that was all about? Why didn't you tell us?"

Rachel shrugged. "It didn't seem important at the time. I was furious with him over the funkification and their win at Regionals. I realize now that he was still upset over my stupid Run Joey Run video and he felt like he was paying me back, but I didn't know it at the time. I've forgiven him, and things are okay between the two of us."

"What about your mom?"

Rachel shrugged. "Haven't seen her; haven't heard from her."

"That's kind of sad."

"It's her loss." Rachel tossed her hair over her shoulder. She was old hat at hiding her pain and pretending everything was all right. Shelby's betrayal still hurt, and she supposed it would for a while yet. But there was nothing she could do about it, and she was doing her best to put it behind her. "So...about Jesse."

Mercedes tented her hands, thinking. "Do you want to go to prom with him?"

"Yeah," Rachel admitted quietly. It was something she hadn't really confessed to herself yet, because she wasn't sure it was going to happen. But now Mercedes seemed to actually be considering the idea.

"I know we're rivals and we don't always get along very well, but I don't want to see you get snowed by the same guy again." Mercedes thought for another minute. "How about this—why don't you ask him to join the three of us? Make our group an even number. Then Sam and I can have your back in case anything goes wrong."

Rachel didn't really think anything was going to go wrong, but if that was what Mercedes was offering, she'd take it. She hadn't expected this conversation to go so well—not by a longshot. Excitement began to feather through her system at the thought of prom—Mercedes had given her okay, and she was going to the dance with Jesse. They would be part of a group, so maybe that would temper the reaction of the other members of the glee club, too. Okay, Rachel admitted silently, that wasn't terribly likely. Still, a girl could dream, couldn't she? On impulse she jumped up and threw her arms around Mercedes, hugging her tightly. "Thank you!" she squealed. "Thank you—thank you!"

"Okay, cool it, kid," Mercedes said, giving her a squeeze and then pushing her away. "Divas like us don't need to act like five-year-olds."

Okay, maybe that was technically true, but Rachel found it difficult to contain herself in this particular instance. She was not only getting a real date for prom, but it was going to be Jesse. She liked to think she had a fairly active imagination, but this was one thing she'd never even dreamed might happen."

"So will you two still be joining us on prom on a budget?" Mercedes asked once Rachel was settled back in her seat once more. "Jesse's always made it quite clear that money isn't a problem for him."

"We're still joining you," Rachel said definitively. "In solidarity with Sam; it's only right."

Mercedes shook her head a little as they brought out cash to split the bill. "Who knew prom would cause so much drama?"

Rachel chuckled. "We're New Directions. How long do we ever really go without drama?"

"Too true." Mercedes plopped down a final dollar and they stood. "You know this Jesse situation is going to get back to Finn eventually, right? Even if Sam and I don't tell him right away, he's going to find out."

Rachel nodded, glancing down at the table as she gathered her things. Yes, she knew it was impossible to keep a secret like this from the rest of the team for very long. Things had a way of making their way through the New Directions grapevine in less time than it took to update Facebook status. But the thing was, she didn't really care. Finn made his choice months ago, and while it hurt, she wasn't going to go crawling back to him. After Jesse had interrupted her rehearsal of "Rolling in the Deep" in the auditorium, Rachel had ultimately decided on "Jar of Hearts" as one of her prom contributions, and she was going to sing it to Finn. It was a perfect way to express how she was feeling right now—a little sad, perhaps, but ultimately secure in her decision. Finn didn't get to suddenly start acting jealous now that Jesse was back in the picture. If he tried, she'd just tell him with music exactly how she felt. He didn't get to get her back; not after everything he'd done to hurt her. She was giving Jesse a second chance, but as far as she was concerned Finn had had a second, and a third, and quite possibly a fourth already. She'd stopped counting a while ago, but suffice to say he was out of chances. Not that there was any guarantee he'd even want another shot, but Finn didn't always think or act rationally where Jesse St. James was concerned.

"Finn's going to have to grow up about this," she said, glancing out the window of the diner. "I know he won't like it, but it's not his decision to make."

"You know, Rachel, I think bossy St. James might actually be having a positive effect on you." Mercedes looped her arm through Rachel's and they headed toward the exit together. "That's the most down to earth thing I think I've ever heard you say about Finn."

Rachel shoved her shoulder into Mercedes'. "Enough about boys," she said, pulling her toward the doorway. "Let's go back and get you that dress."

* * *

><p>"I realize girls like to shop, but did you seriously wear yourself out that much?" Jesse teased as he opened her car door and leaned against it, peering inside.<p>

Rachel opened one eye and watched him without moving. The gently teasing smile warmed something inside her, and she wordlessly reached up with her arms. He grinned wider and caught her around the waist, pulling her out from behind the steering wheel. She leaned against him once her feet were on the ground and nestled into the circle of his arms. No, they technically weren't dating—she hadn't lied to Mercedes about that—but they definitely weren't just friends, either. Friends didn't hold each other like this; not in her experience, anyway.

"I realize I'm high maintenance," she mumbled into his shoulder, "and I've accepted that fact. But today, Mercedes took that concept to a whole new level. Do you realize we went back to every secondhand shop around Lima no less than three times? She tried on the same dress a grand total of five times before finally deciding to buy it. I swear, if I pull a stunt that extreme at any time before my first Tony awards show, feel free to stop me by any means necessary."

Jesse laughed. "You know I'll hold you to that."

"You have not only my permission, but my blessing."

Rachel didn't consider the meaning of her words until they were out of her mouth. Here she was, talking with Jesse about the future as if everything between them was easy and clear-cut—as if they weren't in some nebulous, undefined state somewhere between friendship and dating. How foolish was it to refer to an event years in the future, she wondered now? But Jesse hadn't called her on it—he'd played along, in fact, as if he had every intention of witnessing her extravagances between now and her first Tony appearance. A warm flush rose in her cheeks as the full weight of that realization hit her. Jesse was serious. He was in this for the long haul. Neither of them knew exactly what was going to happen in the next couple of years, but Rachel knew enough. She was going to New York eventually—maybe for college, maybe after—and she had every intention of bringing Jesse with her. UCLA was all fine and good if what he wanted was a university education, but for musical theater the place to be was Broadway. If he didn't want to try his hand at a performing arts school, he could jump right into professional auditions. He had the talent and the drive—she had no doubt of that.

"So what sort of prom dress did you end up getting?" Jesse asked, tucking her under one arm as he peered through the window of her back seat. "Short? Floor-length? Full skirt? Skin-tight?"

"None."

Jesse blinked at her. "You mean to tell me you spent all day—literally all day—out with Mercedes looking for prom dresses and you didn't find one?"

Rachel scowled. "It's not my fault! I told you already that we agreed to go to prom on a very limited budget so we wouldn't make Sam feel bad. The problem is, none of the secondhand stores in the area have anything even remotely acceptable in my size. Mercedes finally found something she could live with, but I never did. Seriously, Jesse—we might not be going to prom after all."

"Don't say that." He ran a hand lightly down her arm and took her hand, squeezing it softly. "We're going to prom, and it's going to be perfect. You'll see."

"Not without a dress it isn't. I seriously lowered my standards as much as I could, but there was nothing for sale that wouldn't have made me look like either a clown or the saddest bridesmaid in the history of the world."

Jesse chuckled. "Come with me."

Still holding his hand, Rachel followed Jesse up the steps of his parents' house. She'd never actually been here before, and she shivered a little at the imposing facade. The house was gigantic, but Jesse pulled her inside the front door without hesitation.

And why should he hesitate? He'd grown up in this house. It was as familiar to him as her fathers' house was to her. Or, at least, she assumed it was. Though now, come to think of it, she realized he mentioned his parents very little. When he spoke about his childhood, more often than not his uncle was the primary adult in his stories. Rachel had met Jesse's uncle during their first attempt at a relationship, and she'd liked him immensely. He was a dedicated bachelor, a jack-of-all-trades artist who made enough money to live on selling paintings and pottery, and he had a wicked sense of humor that rivaled his nephew's.

But this was an entirely different experience, being led up the stairs of Jesse's parents' house. The grand staircase was wooden, and it curved gently as it rose to the second floor of the house. Rachel trailed a little behind Jesse, clutching his hand perhaps a bit too tight, but she was a little nervous. She'd never met his parents, and she wasn't at all sure she wanted to. The house was awfully quiet, too.

"Don't be scared," Jesse said, pausing at the landing. "We're the only ones home. My parents are in Paris, my brother has his own place, and my sister has half-day marathon therapy sessions on Thursdays. We have the place to ourselves."

Rachel relaxed a little as he led her down a hall and opened a door at the far end. Another set of stairs, this one decidedly smaller, led upwards. "Where are we going?" she asked, looping her index fingers through two belt loops on the back of his jeans as she followed him up the stairs.

"You'll see. It's a surprise."

They reached the top of the stairs and encountered yet another hallway. On the third floor now, Rachel peered through a window toward the expansive back yard below. The St. James house had an immaculately manicured lawn as well as a pool. The water was chlorine-azure and it sparkled in the late spring sunshine. Briefly she wondered what it would be like to see Jesse in a swimsuit—she'd seen him shirtless before, but she'd never seen him in shorts. The combination of lean legs and wet skin might be a little much, she decided. For now, anyway. They weren't nearly ready to start exploring those kinds of thoughts yet. He hadn't even asked her to be his girlfriend again.

They turned a corner, and then another one, and Jesse opened yet another door. Rachel was getting confused, her internal map thrown off by the immensity of the St. James house. She could do nothing but follow Jesse as he led her up a final flight of steps. They had to be heading into the attic, she thought. These stairs were rough and unpolished, and the air smelled a little dusty, like wood left to bake in the summer sun. She breathed in the comforting smell as they reached the top step and Jesse switched on a light.

She was right—this was an attic. An attic kept in immaculate order. There were no spiderwebs, no piles of detritus left to mold in shadowy corners. Track lighting brightened the room, and were it not for the slanting, unpainted eaves overhead, Rachel would have hardly known she was in an attic. She stepped forward, running a hand over an old upright piano.

"I remembered something the other day," Jesse said, and he crossed the room in several long strides. Rachel joined him next to a highly-polished cedar chest that looked both old and very expensive. "I wasn't going to say anything to you unless I needed to, because I didn't want to influence your decision. But it looks like a little influence might be in order."

Rachel watched as he flicked the locking mechanism and carefully lifted the lid of the trunk. The smell of cedar hit her nose. It was the smell of her grandmother—Hiram's mother—and of the treasures she used to keep in her house, all locked away in their own special boxes.

Jesse knelt next to the chest and lifted out several neatly-folded quilts that looked handmade. Below them were garment bags, and Rachel watched with interest as he lifted several out.

"This is my mother's old hope chest," he said, taking the bags over his arm, "and these are some of her old dresses. I remembered a while back she got in a fight with my sister, who wanted to have the chest. Mom said you need hopes before you can have a hope chest."

"Jesse, that's awful."

He shrugged lightly. "That's how it works in the St. James household. I'm the beloved baby of the family, and my siblings despise me because of it. Nothing I can do about it." He lay the bags over an old table. "My mother's not here, but I promise she wouldn't mind. Last year she kept asking why she never got to meet you."

Rachel shifted nervously. Meeting Jesse's parents was not particularly high on her to-do list, quite honestly. He sent such mixed messages about them, and she didn't really know what to think. She felt for his siblings, too, after what she'd gone through with Shelby. It didn't feel good to be brushed aside by a parent.

"I promise, Rachel," Jesse repeated, and he took her hand and squeezed it. "Do you want to see the dresses? If you find one you like it'll still technically be secondhand, so you won't be breaking any prom-on-a-budget rules."

Rachel nodded slowly. Jesse's thought was very sweet, and it wasn't like she had any better options at the moment. She let him release her hand so he could find the zipper of the first garment bag and draw it down.

The third bag held the dress she would wear. Jesse said it was his mother's senior prom dress from 1982, but it was a classic cut that had not aged a bit. Whatever else she might be, his mother had excellent taste. The dress was a soft pink—Rachel's favorite color—and the full skirt of several layers of lacy tulle hissed and whispered deliciously when she brushed her hand across it. The strapless bodice would show a lot of skin, but as long as it fit without threat of falling down Rachel didn't mind.

"I knew that was the one you would pick," Jesse said softly from behind her. He skimmed his fingertips lightly down her arm and she shivered at the gentle touch. "There's a photo in my dad's office of my mother in this dress, but I have no doubt you'll put her to shame."

"I don't even know if it would fit," Rachel protested, pulling her hand away from the fabric with a reluctance that surprised her. It was a beautiful dress, and it screamed both innocence and sophistication. She wanted very much to wear it, but she was still torn. Jesse had given her permission, but his mother had not.

"So try it on," he urged. "You can step behind that screen there."

Rachel eyed the Japanese paper screen in its carved wood frame. It looked reasonable enough. She picked up the dress carefully and felt the cool fabric fall against her arm.

"It's okay," Jesse said again. He smiled. "I've never seen you so shy before."

"This is a big deal, Jesse."

"It really isn't. There's no pressure—I'm just trying to help you. I've been stupid and wrong, Rachel, and I understand that now. I want to make your prom night perfect for you. It won't make up for what I did, but I'd like to think it might be a start."

Rachel smiled and touched his cheek. "You don't have to keep apologizing, Jesse. I already told you that I forgive you."

"I know." He smiled and turned his head, kissing her palm softly. "But that's not going to stop me."

"Noted." Rachel readjusted her grip on the delicate fabric and stepped behind the screen. Heart beating abnormally fast, she carefully removed everything except her panties, tossing her clothes to lay over the top of the screen. Jesse was being a gentleman and standing a discreet distance away, but she was still very aware of his presence in the room as she undressed. It wasn't uncomfortable exactly, but there was a thread of tension linking their bodies, something she'd almost forgotten in the months he'd been away. No other boy had ever been able to affect her the way Jesse did—not physically. She was able to push Noah away without a second thought, and even Finn hadn't made it past second base with her. But Jesse...Jesse had always been different, and she didn't quite know why. Like so many things about Jesse St. James, it was an ongoing mystery.

Slowly she drew the pale pink dress over her head, letting it settle around her hips. The skirt hit perfectly at mid-calf, just where she suspected it was supposed to. She reached behind her and carefully pulled the thin zipper up as far as she could, adjusting the top over her breasts. The waist fit perfectly, but she could already tell that the bust was going to be a little too big, even when it was completely zipped. Kurt would easily be able to remedy that in five minutes with his sewing machine, but Rachel wasn't about to make alterations to a dress that wasn't hers. She sighed softly and reached for the zipper again to draw it back down, feeling regret settle into the pit of her stomach. It was a beautiful dress, and for a moment it had seemed almost made for her, but ultimately it wasn't. Once again, Rachel Berry did not fit the mold. She knew she was supposed to like being unique, but at times like this it really felt like it was getting old.

Suddenly a warm hand was wrapped around hers, stilling her movements. She froze, feeling Jesse's breath tickling the back of her bare neck.

"Why are you taking it off again?" he asked, the words murmured low against her skin. "Don't I get to see what it looks like on you?"

"It doesn't fit," Rachel said, tugging again at the zipper he was holding still in his grasp. The irony of the situation was not lost on her—here she was trying to take her clothes off, and the boy who had pressured her for sex more than once last year was doing his best to keep them on.

"It looks good to me."

Rachel scowled. She was a little self-conscious about her bust, and she really didn't want to be discussing this with him. "That's because you're behind me."

He pulled the zipper all the way up despite her hand in the way, and he dropped a burning kiss against her bare shoulder when he finished. "Show me," he breathed, his breath feathering hot across her skin.

She wasn't able to deny him when he spoke like that. Swallowing hard, Rachel inhaled deeply and slowly turned around.

He kept his hands lightly on her shoulders as she turned, and she dropped her eyes quickly to the floor, unable to meet his gaze. She could feel his eyes on her body and it was disconcerting. She always had Jesse's complete attention when she was with him, but this felt...different. Not judgmental, but there was a definite change in the intensity of his gaze that she couldn't quite place.

"You're a vision," he said after a long moment. His voice held something Rachel had never heard before from anyone. It twisted, pulling at something deep inside her that responded in kind. "I was right—you put that photo to shame."

"Don't flatter me, Jesse," she said stiffly, trying to step back out of reach of his hands. "It doesn't fit me right."

"I'm no tailor, but isn't that easily remedied?" He kept hold of her shoulders, not letting her turn away.

"I can't make adjustments to your mother's dress!" Rachel protested.

"Why not? She's never going to wear it again. I keep telling you, Rachel, it's fine." He took her hand and pulled gently. Rachel let him, following as he backed to the table and sat down on it. He brought her to stand between his legs and he slipped his arms around her tulle-clad waist. "You grew up without a mother, so let me tell you what hope chests are for. When a girl is young, they're for storing things she'll want when she gets older. They're a treasure trove of hopes and dreams—and yeah, maybe it's a little old-fashioned, but they're still horrendously popular. Then, after she grows up and gets married, the hope chest becomes a place of memories for a while. She stores things that had meaning at certain times in her life, like prom dresses, and once in a while she looks at them and smiles, remembering the girl she used to be."

"Jesse, I might not have grown up with Shelby, but I know what a hope chest is." Rachel pulled fretfully at his grip, but he did not let go.

"Hush and listen. This is the important part." He smiled sweetly, and that simple gesture was all Rachel needed to still her restless movements for a moment. "Later, as she ages, the chest becomes filled with hopes once again. The old memories become new dreams—dreams for another generation. My mother and my sister do not get along—okay? These old dresses won't ever be shared down from mother to daughter. She's relying on her sons—me, in particular—to provide her with the girls with whom she can share her old dreams. That's you, Rachel. I know you haven't met her yet, and said meeting might be some time away because my parents are hardly ever in Ohio, but she would want you to do this. I know it."

"And if you're wrong?"

"I'm not." His voice was firm with the conviction only Jesse St. James could elicit. "You're stunning in that dress, and you'll be even more so once it's altered to fit you perfectly." He paused, and one eyebrow raised slightly as he stared deep into her eyes. Rachel felt a quiver flow through her body every time he looked at her with that expression. It was like he was reading everything inside her, as if he had x-ray vision for her thoughts and emotions, everything she was suddenly laid bare before him. "It's the dress that needs to be adjusted, Rachel. Not you."

He knew. Just like that—with one glance—he knew. Rachel stared at him with wide, dark eyes, and she didn't protest as he lowered his mouth to kiss her.

It was their first kiss since his return, and the touch quivered along her nerves, shooting tendrils of heat straight through her body. He was delicious—even better than she remembered—and she raised a a hand to slip into the silky hair at the nape of his neck, drawing him deeper, holding him more firmly against her.

There was no teasing to the kiss—no playful nibbles or silly sweet-talk against each other's lips. Jesse's tongue slipped into her mouth and she let it, kissing him back with an aching need borne of almost a year's longing. No matter how badly he'd hurt her, she couldn't deny the fact that her body craved the touch of his. She needed him like she needed the stage, like she needed music—he was her lifeblood, just as much as anything else she loved.

"I'm not leaving again," he murmured, tearing his mouth from hers only to press tiny, hot kisses across her jaw and down her neck. Every place he touched burned, raw and tingly, and she ached for more even as she feared it. Jesse had always had a surprisingly intense effect on her, but this was beyond anything she'd experienced with him before. This was something raw and primal—something that flowed back and forth between them, feeding on each other. "I came back for you, Rachel, and I want you to be mine. For good."

Rachel wasn't stupid. Even through the fog of desire quickly building in her mind, she knew that "for good" at their age really meant "for now." Nobody could make those kind of declarations at sixteen or eighteen and really mean them, and she was okay with that. She had no doubt he meant what he said, as far as that went. She meant it, too—wanted it just as much as he did. She was willing to give him this chance, willing to try again.

"I was yours the minute you pulled that Lionel Richie book out of my hand in the music store," she said wryly, pulling her skin away from his mouth with a monumental effort. His blue eyes, when they met hers, were cloudy with desire but she had no doubt he was paying attention to her. With Jesse, that was never a problem. "I tried to run for a while, but the truth never changed."

"I know." Jesse pulled her close again and tipped her chin up with a firm hand. "I know, and I gave you a year to run. That time is over."

"Yes," Rachel agreed, "it is."

This time, she kissed him.

Long minutes later, Rachel gasped as Jesse slid his hands down the length of her full skirt, catching her legs and pulling her up and into his arms. He'd held her like this before, her legs wrapped around his waist and his hands hot and heavy against her skin, but this time felt perhaps even more intimate. The warm, spicy smell of the attic and the cedar chest combined with Jesse's personal scent and the net result was intoxicating. She could feel the hard evidence of his desire rub against her as they moved, and her breath caught a little in her throat. In that moment she wanted him—wanted all of him. Thoughts of Noah and his pronouncements about make-up sex flashed through her head. If sex as an apology was supposed to be so great, she probably couldn't do much better for a first time. No one knew where they were—they could be alone for hours if they wanted...

But just as she was deciding to let Jesse continue and see where he led, he began gentling their frantic kisses. His mouth moved more tenderly against hers, less demanding, until every touch was nothing but warm, moist softness, slow and excruciatingly sweet.

"Jesse..." she said, hearing the moan in the back of her own voice. "Jesse, please." She was in love with these softer kisses, but the passionate makeout session had seriously left her wanting more. Was this how it felt to have an addiction, she wondered? Was she going to suddenly become a sex addict like Schue apparently was?

"Rachel, I will absolutely devour you." His voice was tight, as if he was desperately trying to rein in something within himself. "I will love you until you see stars—until your entire world implodes. But not here and not now. I just got back in your good graces, and I'm not going to do anything to fuck it up again."

Though her body was more than a little disappointed, Rachel took a deep breath and steadied herself. "A gentleman, huh?" she said, willing her voice not to shake. "Who'd have thought?"

Jesse chuckled lowly. His fingertips danced lightly across her swollen lips. "You make it difficult sometimes," he admitted. "But you're worth it." He rose from the table and held out a hand.

"What are you doing?" Rachel asked, shifting hesitantly as her skirt settled back into place with a fetching swirling motion.

Jesse's smile was all-encompassing. "Consider this a prequel to prom. Dance with me?"

He really was too perfect. Rachel could do nothing but comply.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Remember, to see a continuation, you have to review and vote for which of these two story starts deserves a second part!_


	10. Prom Queen Part 2

_A/N: So here's part two of "Get Me Back" (aka the Prom Queen fix). Jeez, I guess all it takes is a poll to get people crawling out of the woodwork! Yes, there will be a part two to the second futurefic, too. Some of you know me way too well, lol. Of course I couldn't leave anyone hanging like that! Well, not forever, anyway._

_Again, if you like this one, thank Northstar61 because she asked for it. :-) All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

><p><strong>Get Me Back (part 2)<strong>

"Hi."

"Hi." Rachel felt her face growing warm as she hung in her doorway, Jesse smiling at her just on the other side. It wasn't just that he was picking her up for prom, one of the most important nights of a young girl's life. It wasn't even that her dads were away for the weekend—though they'd Skyped her earlier in the evening, insisting on seeing her in her dress and pronouncing her the most beautiful girl they'd ever seen. No—it was the way Jesse was smiling at her now. Not just a smile; she couldn't pinpoint the expression exactly, but there was something about the light in his eyes that warmed her, making her feel both loved and extremely nervous.

"It's just me," he said, the smile never changing.

"I know." She stepped aside, letting him into the foyer.

"You're going to put every other girl there to shame, you know." Once again, he seemed to read her mind as he paused and added, "Even Quinn."

"Nobody puts Quinn to shame—not in the looks department."

Jesse waved her objections aside. "Quinn is conventional, and that's something you've never been and never could be. You're infinitely more unique, and that makes you superior in just about every way. She may end up getting that stereotypical slice of the American dream, but you're destined for so much more. Let her have her prom crown and her white picket fence if that's what she wants. When you've won your first Tony, you'll see that what you have is so much better, it's beyond comparison."

Rachel let him pull her into his arms. "How is it that you always seem to know exactly what I need to hear?"

"It's because I know you. Now, are you ready for your surprise?"

"Surprise?" Rachel let him tuck her under one arm, watching as he produced a small white cardboard box from his pocket. She knew instantly what was in it, and she blinked in surprise. "Jesse, Mercedes and I were going to make corsages from her mom's garden..."

"I know." He offered the box, and she took it hesitantly. "And I understand your wish to make Sam feel comfortable, but you've given up so much for your prom night. I wanted you to have this, at least. Don't worry—there's one for Mercedes in the car."

The warm feeling inside Rachel grew exponentially. "Really?"

"Sure. I figure Sam doesn't need to know, and maybe it will get me some brownie points with Mercedes. I know she doesn't like me."

"She did ask you to join us only for my protection," Rachel admitted.

"Your protection?" Jesse sounded amused rather than offended, and Rachel was a little relieved.

"So she and Sam could have my back in case you did anything...untoward."

"Untoward?" Jesse laughed. "Like throw eggs at you in the middle of prom?" He shook his head. "Surely she gives me more credit than that."

"Not much." Rachel touched her fingertips to his cheek. "But I'm positive you'll be able to change her mind if you keep up these thoughtful gestures."

"I aim to please. Are you going to open it?"

Rachel carefully popped open the lid of the box and smiled. The wrist corsage was perfect, just as she knew it would be. There was a small riot of tiny pale pink flowers and loops of matching ribbon clustered together, just a shade brighter than her dress. It set off the slightly darker hue of her skin, making her almost seem to glow as Jesse helped her affix the delicate corsage to her wrist.

"It's beautiful, Jesse," she said, admiring the tiny flowers. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome."

"Is Mercedes' the same?"

He snorted. "Of course not. She has an orchid that I think will match her dress if you described the color right."

"Knowing you, I'm sure you got it right."

"That's because we make an excellent team." Jesse kissed her temple softly. "Do your dads want some pictures before we leave?"

"They're not actually here," Rachel said, twisting her fingers together nervously. She hadn't actually intended to tell him that; her fathers being gone on prom night opened up a can of worms she didn't think she was ready to explore just yet, even with him. But she wasn't going to lie to him, and his question about photos really was reasonable.

"Do they have a camera with a timer? We could take a couple for them anyway," Jesse suggested.

Rachel beamed. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

* * *

><p>Mercedes had been right about the tacky streamers and decorations, but once they were inside the gym, Rachel thought it was perfect. Tackily perfect, perhaps, but perfect nonetheless. There was a disco ball and balloons and metallic swirling...things...along with the twisted crepe paper, the lights were turned low, and the music was loud. As far as Rachel was concerned, it was everything she wanted. The other members of New Directions didn't seem quite as excited as she was about being the entertainment, but she considered it just another opportunity to gain practice performing. Jesse had expressed concern at the time it was taking away from their Nationals rehearsals, but he didn't understand how Mr. Schue operated. When Rachel explained that they didn't even have a set list for Nationals yet, he had been floored. Rachel didn't know, but she suspected that was where his suggestion about coming on board as a consultant had come from. If it was true, she appreciated the gesture. Schue didn't always take competition as seriously as she would like, but there was nothing much she could do about it. Maybe he would listen to Jesse, since he obviously didn't listen to her.<p>

"Jesse?"

He squeezed her hand to tell her he was listening, and she saw his head bend slightly to the side, his ear cocking toward her.

"I'm slotted to perform three songs tonight, and I was wondering if you'd consider singing at least one with me?" Performing with him was always a heady experience—nobody else matched her or pushed her quite as much as he did. "I know it's a little sudden, but since you've already had your confrontation with Finn I figured it couldn't do any harm now."

"I'd be honored to sing with you." He squeezed her waist gently. "And if you don't mind a little feedback, I'd vote against Rolling in the Deep. We knocked that number into orbit the other day, but I think at prom people are looking for songs they can more easily dance to."

"A reasonable point." Rachel smiled. "Why don't you think of something we can do together for my second slot? Maybe something more upbeat, since I still plan to sing Jar of Hearts to Finn first and that's a slow song."

"Also not quite in the spirit of prom, though since it's a chance for slow dancing I doubt anyone will complain." They wended their way through the thin crowd of early arrivals, heading backstage for a last-minute soundcheck. "You know, I might be jealous if it was almost any other song you were planning to sing to him."

Rachel stopped just far enough away so the sound tech couldn't hear their conversation. She turned to face Jesse and looked up at him. Even in the dim light of the gym she could see the veil over his clear blue eyes that meant he was trying to mask his true feelings. It might work with other people, but not with her. "What Finn said in the restaurant really bothered you, didn't it?"

Jesse shrugged, trying to make light of the situation. "He has every right to dislike how I treated you."

"No." Rachel shook her head. "_I_ have every right to dislike how you treated me. Finn doesn't. And nothing you did was personally aimed at him, so he can't really complain about that either."

"You don't think your friends have a right to be angry on your behalf?"

Rachel knew that skeptical eyebrow quite well, and she chuckled when she saw it. "That's fine, as far as it goes, but that's not why he was baiting you."

"I know that." Jesse took her hand and held it between them. "I can't pretend to ignore his jealousy, Rach. I'm sorry, but that's asking too much of me. I'll do my best not to let it escalate into a physical altercation, but when he pushes like that, I'm going to push back. He's trying to intimidate both of us, and it's not fair to you, to me, or to Quinn."

"Is that why you offered to dance with her?"

Jesse snorted. "I offered to dance with her because she doesn't deserve his indecisiveness any more than you do. That's all there is to it."

"He hates what this prom has become for him, you know," Rachel said almost idly. "Her campaign for prom king and queen has sucked all the fun out of it for him. He doesn't even want to be here."

"That was abundantly obvious. Did you _see_ his drooping bow tie? It's like he wasn't even trying."

Rachel raised their clasped hands and kissed Jesse's knuckles, the knobs of bone sharp against her lips. "Let's not worry about him any more tonight. You and I are going to sing together, and we're going to dance, and we're going to have a wonderful time."

Jesse drew their hands away from her mouth and returned the gesture, kissing the back of her hand. "That sounds like an excellent idea."

They checked the setlist for the night, and Rachel discovered that her first slot was the second song of the dance, directly after a group number by some of the boys. She bit her lip, considering. It was early in the night to start slow songs, but she wanted to make her feelings very clear to Finn as soon as possible. The way he had baited Jesse at the restaurant really was unacceptable. Yes, Jesse had pushed right back, but he hadn't started it. Nothing Jesse said was untrue, anyway. Finn _was_ a bad dancer, and everyone knew that. Was it kind to throw it in his face? No. But she didn't blame Jesse after what Finn had said.

"Are you going to sing to him first?" Jesse asked, his hands warm on her shoulders as he stood behind her.

"I was thinking so. To get it out of the way." She craned her head to glance up at him. "Why? Do you have an opinion?"

"My opinion," Jesse said, dropping his nose to nuzzle her throat, "is that this is your prom, and you should do whatever feels right to you."

Rachel firmly told herself not to blush. He was capable of saying the sweetest things, and that propensity had only increased since his return. She turned, feeling his hands drop to her waist as she slid her arms around his shoulders. "What feels right," she said, "is heading out on the dance floor with you right about now."

"Even though they're only playing a bad DJ mix until you guys start your setlist?"

Rachel nodded, pulling him with her toward the dance floor. The piped-in music didn't bother her—for all she cared, there could be no music at all. She just wanted to be close to him, to move with him and feel his body near hers. Unlike Finn, Jesse was a wonderful dancer.

Jesse closed his hands around her waist and lifted, twirling her around once. Rachel giggled, furiously happy as the full skirt of her borrowed dress swirled deliciously around her bare legs. In that instant she felt beautiful, just as Jesse kept telling her she was. "Tonight is going to be perfect, Jesse," she said as he set her down again. She loved how willing Jesse was to put his hands on her—simple touches, tender and full of meaning that wasn't just sexual. He reached for her hand just as often as she reached for his, and the way he picked her up every now and then sent butterflies flitting along her nerves. She hadn't realized it until Jesse came into her life, but Finn had never been terribly interested in touch unless there was a clear sexual undertone to the contact. He wanted to make out with her—more than make out—but he never pulled her under his arm in the hallways.

"You know, I pride myself on being a man of my word, but I'm afraid there's something I may have to take back."

Rachel laughed again. Jesse's words might initially sound alarming, but the teasing way he said them assured her that, whatever came next, it wouldn't be bad.

She was right.

"I may have to deny Quinn that dance if she asks, because I have absolutely no intention of letting you go tonight."

* * *

><p>He didn't, either. Except for the first time she stepped onstage without him, their bodies were never more than a few inches apart. She felt his eyes on her even as she sang to Finn, and she felt secure that Jesse knew who the song was for. Finn kept shooting her confused glances as she sang, and Rachel wasn't at all sure that her message was getting through. Did he think she was singing about Jesse? But that was absurd—she'd already told Finn she was giving Jesse another chance. She was here at prom with him; didn't her actions mean anything?<p>

Although, she supposed, some of the confusion might be compounded by Quinn, who kept turning Finn's head back to her whenever he tried to look at Rachel. She didn't begrudge the blond girl her jealousy, but really, this was Finn they were talking about. He needed time to really concentrate on the lyrics of the song if he was ever going to understand, and Quinn kept breaking that concentration. Every time she touched him, Rachel could see his train of thought derail and begin all over again. At this rate, it would never resolve.

But she had more important things to think about than Finn's confusion, and the most pressing one was waiting for her as she stepped offstage. His blue eyes shone with a light that eclipsed the applause from her peers, and his proud smile was almost blinding. "You're wonderful," he said. "You don't need me to tell you that, but I wanted you to know anyway."

He slipped his arms around her, and Rachel let herself be engulfed by his embrace—the softly masculine smell of him, the effortless way he made butterflies erupt in her stomach.

The first strains of Mercedes' soulful contribution to prom night filtered through the gym, and Rachel angled their entwined bodies back toward the dance floor. "Dance with me again?"

His sweet eyes twinkled. "Only if you can see fit to dance with a soulless automaton."

Rachel laughed and reached up to cup his cheek in her hand. He must have shaved extra-well, she thought; his skin was almost soft. "You're not soulless, Jesse St. James, and you never were. You just hid it extremely well."

"Not well enough if you found me out."

Rachel rolled herself onto her toes and kissed him gently. Coach Sylvester had warned that any PDA was grounds for expulsion from the dance, but even the Cheerios' coach only had two eyes, and they couldn't be everywhere at once. For Jesse, she was willing to take the chance. "I can see behind your showface," she said, and brushed another quick kiss against his lips. "Sorry, Jesse—there's plenty I don't understand about you yet, but this is one thing I've got down pat."

His answer was another kiss, just as swift and clandestine. "Don't apologize. You're the only one I trust with that knowledge. I don't doubt you'll know all my secrets before long."

Rachel smiled into his shoulder as they moved deeper into the crowd. It wasn't a slow song, but Jesse did not seem terribly inclined to let her go and she wasn't complaining. She let him hold her as they swayed gently, lost in a rhythm that had little to do with the music—the music onstage, anyway. There was a different rhythm floating through them, ebbing and flowing back and forth, a kind of open, waiting sort of hush. She stepped and Jesse stepped with her. He shifted and she was already leaning in the same direction. They were two minds and two bodies, but as they held each other close and called it dancing, it was almost as if they were one.

But while the gentle moment could resist the swinging beat of Mercedes' song, it was broken by the louder, more rhythmic pulse of Blaine's offering, backed by Brittany and Tina. With a rueful smile, Jesse dropped his arms from her waist and offered her his hand. Rachel took it, feeling the loss of that beautiful moment, but she tried to take it in stride as Jesse twirled her effortlessly and then spun her back toward his body. As they picked up the pace to match the other kids laughing and bobbing around them, Rachel felt her heart lighten. That one perfect moment might be gone, but they would have others. They literally had a lifetime in front of them, and a plethora of new experiences to try. This was just as beautiful, in its own way, she thought as Jesse ducked under their clasped hands, executing a swing move that once again set her skirt swirling around her calves.

She laughed and spun toward him again, knowing he would catch her. He did and, still laughing, lowered his head to kiss her throat.

It was a daring touch because there was no telling when Coach Sylvester might be looking their way, but Rachel didn't stop him. She loved the feel of his mouth on her skin, and the little teasing kisses he dropped against her neck were both a little tickly and incredibly sexy at the same time. She giggled, holding him close and hoping he wouldn't stop...

Suddenly a rough hand touched her arm, and Jesse was torn from her grasp. For a moment, all she could think of was Coach Sylvester. Sue had seen Jesse kiss her, and instead of bellowing over the music with her megaphone, she had waded into the crowd to tear them apart. Rachel winced and turned, not sure what she was going to say but fully intending to put up a fight if the chaperone tried to kick them out.

But the person standing next to them, glaring as if they'd done something terrible, wasn't Coach Sylvester. It was Finn.

"Keep it PG, man," he snapped, squaring his body with Jesse's as if angling for a fight.

Rachel opened her eyes wide. This was not happening. Not in the middle of prom. This was supposed to be her night—her perfect night. Jesse had promised her that, but his presence seemed to be just too much for Finn to handle. She swallowed hard, shooting a glance at Quinn.

"Do something," she mouthed, but Quinn just stared back, as hard and cold as ever, and did not acknowledge the request.

"Dude," Jesse said, and Rachel's attention snapped back to the situation at hand. He'd promised to try not to fight with Finn physically, but he'd made no such promises about verbal sparring. She honestly didn't blame him—especially not right now. They'd been dancing; having a wonderful time. Finn's interruption had been entirely unprovoked. "It's none of your business."

"Well, this is my school, so it's my business."

Rachel wanted to raise an eyebrow, even in the midst of the argument. Seriously, that was his excuse? Plenty of other couples were stealing kisses or caresses while Sue's back was turned. Finn wasn't monitoring any of _them_.

"This isn't your girlfriend," Jesse said, and for the first time Rachel heard the hint of menace in his voice. Before he had been lightly warning Finn to back off. Now he was telling him in no uncertain terms.

Suddenly, from out of the blue, Finn's arms shot out and he shoved Jesse.

That was it. There was no way Rachel was standing by and letting this argument grow into a bigger altercation. It was a wonder Coach Sylvester hadn't stepped in already. She wasn't having her prom night ruined because Finn decided he was suddenly jealous and Quinn didn't seem to want to stop her boyfriend from making a huge mistake.

"Stop it!" she ordered, and she stepped between the two boys. Finn had moved in for another shove and he stumbled over his feet as he checked himself, stopping just short of plowing into Rachel's smaller form.

Jesse's arm was around her immediately, ready to pull her out of harm's way, but she stood firm. "Stop it," she said again. "You're both acting like children, and this has gone on long enough. I'm ending it tonight." She felt Jesse's fingers clench on her hip and she put her hand on his arm, hoping he would give her the chance to explain before he got upset. "Finn, Jesse's right. I'm not your girlfriend, and if we're going to stay friends, you need to accept that I've chosen him. I know you don't like it, but he makes me happy. If you're my friend, you should be happy for me."

"He's just going to hurt you again!"

Rachel grit her teeth. People around them were staring despite the loud music from the stage. Luckily they hadn't brought the entire dance to a standstill—yet—but Rachel was just waiting for Coach Sylvester to step in at any moment.

"I don't believe that's true," she said, squeezing Jesse's arm again. "But even if it is, it's my mistake to make. You can't save me from a choice I make willingly, no matter how much you think you have that right."

"Rachel - "

"She told you what she thinks already, so back off."

The menace was back in Jesse's voice, and Rachel rubbed his arm this time instead of squeezing it. She knew he couldn't help his jealousy any more than she could help hers around Quinn. Even though they were no longer jockeying for the affections of the same boy, there was still so much bad blood between them. Quinn had the perfect looks and the popularity. Though Rachel knew Jesse was telling the truth earlier and she wouldn't want Quinn's life if the opportunity were presented, it didn't help the uncomfortable green lump of jealousy that simmered in her stomach.

"You don't belong here, so _you_ back off," Finn snapped, starting forward again. Rachel stood her ground between the two boys and glared at Quinn. Why wasn't the blond girl helping?

Quinn glared right back, and the ice in her stare told Rachel everything she needed to know. Quinn blamed Rachel for this. Despite the fact that it was her boyfriend making the scene, Quinn had always blamed—and probably _would_ always blame—Rachel for any trouble in their relationship. She wasn't going to step in, and as Rachel eyed the tall form of McKinley's quarterback, she realized something else.

Quinn was just waiting for her coach to show up. Whether she though Sue Sylvester would take her side out of loyalty to Quinn or dislike for Rachel, she didn't know. But it was clear that Quinn was letting the confrontation drag on in the hopes that the chaperone would step in. Sue's idea of solving a problem was usually threats of violence, but in this case Rachel feared that she and Jesse would be kicked out of the dance. Was that what Quinn was gunning for? She didn't know, and she hated to think something so terrible of her teammate. But Quinn had done worse before; this wasn't something new by any means.

"Jesse," she said, turning slightly in his arms. "Jesse, please, let's go."

"What?" His arm tightened fractionally around her waist. "Where? Why?"

"I don't want my prom ruined. I'd rather leave now than put up with this for the rest of the night."

"No." His voice was firm, and she could feel as his muscles tensed and he sized up the taller boy standing inches from them. "I'm not going to let you be bullied out of your prom."

Taking a chance, Rachel turned slowly within his grip and slipped her arms around him. His hands closed against her back, one warm palm cupping the bare skin of her shoulder blade, left exposed by the bodice of her dress. Though she had never—_never_-been afraid of Finn, she felt a little nervous in this moment turning her back on him.

He did not respond physically, though—only in words. "You are _not_ leaving with him!"

"Who's going to stop her?" Jesse demanded, and the menace was even clearer in his voice. "You?" Rachel winced a little at just how much mocking derision he could stuff into that one word. She didn't blame him—not with the way Finn was acting—but he really wasn't helping matters by egging on her ex.

"I'll call your dads." Finn shoved a hand in his pocket, reaching for his phone as if to show he was willing to make good on his promise. "I'll do it."

"They're not home," Rachel said flatly, "and even if they were, they trust me. Something you clearly can't do."

"Rachel - "

"No." She pressed closer to Jesse and lowered her voice fractionally to speak only to him. "Please. It's okay, I promise. This is what I want."

Jesse sighed; she could feel the reluctance in every tight line of his body. "I can't say no if it's really what you want," he said. "But are you sure?"

Rachel nodded against him. "I'm sure. Let's go."

"What about Mercedes and Sam?"

Rachel bit her lip. She hadn't thought about that. "A lady always knows when to make an exit," she said finally, flicking her eyes up to him. "Mercedes will understand."

"And your songs? You didn't get all your chances to be on stage."

"I'll live."

She turned her head, looking at McKinley's off-and-on power couple over her shoulder. "We're going to talk about this," she said in no uncertain terms. "I don't want a scene in the middle of prom, and I'd rather be alone with Jesse anyway. But I take this very personally, and you need to know that this is far from over."

* * *

><p>Back in the parking lot, Jesse spun her into his arms and gripped her tightly. "You ran away," he said. "I never pegged Rachel Berry as a runner."<p>

"I didn't run," Rachel insisted. "I meant what I said. Did you see how Quinn was looking at us?"

"I was a little more preoccupied with the beanstalk," Jesse admitted. "Don't step between two guys who are itching for a fight. Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"

"You wouldn't have hurt me and neither would he, no matter how mad at you he is," Rachel said definitively. "I was perfectly safe as far as that goes. It was Quinn I was worried about."

Jesse's arms loosened slightly and he stopped protesting, seeming more willing to listen to her. "You've said that twice now. It must be important."

Rachel nodded. The soft spring night was a little chilly and she shivered lightly as the cool air touched her. She was used to wearing skirts and dresses that showed a little skin, but the feeling of soft air brushing almost all the way down her back was new and surprisingly sensual. She stopped Jesse as he attempted to shrug out of his jacket, helping to tug it back into place. She smoothed a hand across his lapel, feeling the firmness of him under the fabric. "I'm not cold," she said softly. "Keep your jacket."

"You shivered."

"It feels..." Rachel trailed off as another breeze brushed across her back and exposed sternum. There weren't really words to describe it.

But Jesse's eyes lit with understanding and he pulled her to him once again, his fingertips skimming up the bare skin of her back. She shivered again at the intensity of such a light touch—just the barest brush of skin on skin, but it was a part of her body wholly unused to being touched. His fingers traced the line of fabric at the back of her bodice and he smiled gently. "Touch," he said softly, and his voice was low, whispering out of his throat.

"Yes," Rachel agreed. Touch. That was the sensation she had been trying to describe when there really was no adequate descriptor. There didn't need to be. All Jesse had done was name it, and instantly she understood.

"Quinn?"

Was that what they had been talking about? Rachel was wholly distracted and she had to pull her mind back with a will. God, what if she really _was_ turning into a sex addict like Mr. Schue? Was it possible to be addicted to something she hadn't even tried yet? Every time Jesse put his hands on her, it was like she developed the worst case of tunnel vision. She couldn't focus on anything else but how he made her feel. Everything else—conversations, thoughts, worries—went out the window. Had they really been talking about Quinn?

Yes; yes, they had. Rachel grimaced. Touching Jesse was an entirely more palatable option in her mind.

"Quinn was furious," she said. "Her face—she's one of the most bitter, angry people I know, but I think tonight might have been the coldest, iciest look I've ever had from her."

"She had reason to be upset. Her boyfriend—the guy she wanted to be crowned prom queen with—tried to start a fight over another girl."

"And she did nothing to help me stop it," Rachel said. "She was waiting for Coach Sylvester to show up."

"Ah." Jesse frowned. "It makes sense, but it doesn't explain why you wanted to leave. Why let her win? Why let Hudson win?"

Rachel smiled. "They didn't—he didn't, anyway, and I don't think she did, either. He was horrified at the thought of us leaving together, and now he has to live with the fact that he pushed me into doing it. Quinn wanted Coach Sylvester to throw us out, but we left on our own without disgrace. Quinn gets to finish her dance, and it looks like she'll probably end up with that damn crown, but she didn't win. Not in my mind, anyway."

Jesse blew out a breath and rubbed the back of his head. He still didn't look convinced, but there was a softness to him that had not existed when they first exited the school building. "I'm sorry, Rach. I wanted your prom to be perfect."

"It was." She wound her arms around one of his and pressed her mouth against the shoulder of his coat. It smelled like him—warm and faintly masculine. He wasn't wearing a traditional tux, but neither was it rented. She didn't doubt that he had several different incarnations of formalwear tucked away in his family's big house, all of them equally unconventional and equally flattering. "I got to perform, and dance with you, and see all of my friends dressed up and having a good time. Sam actually seemed kind of into Mercedes, which was unexpected but nice." She smiled. "I don't care who gets elected prom king and queen. As far as I'm concerned, prom was perfect. Maybe we didn't get to dance as long as I'd like, but I made the choice and I'm not going to complain."

A slow smile broke across Jesse's face—a smile she knew very well. He was scheming, his quick mind firing as a plan took shape.

"Come with me," he said, slipping his arm out of her grasp and taking her hand instead. "I have an idea."

Rachel could only laugh as he opened the doors to the Range Rover, turned the ignition just enough so the lights and radio worked, and plugged his iPod into the appropriate jack.

"We get to choose better music this way, anyway," he said, pulling her close. The night seemed darker outside the golden light spilling from inside the car, and Rachel shivered again as Jesse's arms encircled her. "Though I'm sure the rest of _your_ songs, at least, would have been perfect."

"Better company, too," Rachel said as he twirled her slowly. He really was incredibly sweet. She knew many people didn't care to look below the haughty exterior to find the real person inside him, and as far as she was concerned, that was their loss and her gain. If she didn't have to fight so many people for Jesse's affection, that was just fine with her. Not that she'd ever had to. Even when he had been hers before—hers, but not really—his attention had never strayed. If it wasn't for Shelby, she suspected they might never have broken up at all. Though the prospect of a long-distance relationship was not particularly pleasing, she knew she would have done it. For Jesse, she would have tried. "Do we get to keep out the riffraff at our prom?"

"Naturally, the guest list at _this_ prom is quite exclusive," Jesse said, and his playful smile made her giggle. "I suppose Mercedes and Sam might be permitted to join—they are technically part of our group, after all. But I see no reason to add anyone else."

"Good." Rachel felt like her heart was flying as Jesse spun her back into his arms. "Thank you, Jesse."

"For what?"

"For coming back. For tonight. Just—everything."

The playful dancing slowed, and Jesse's hands found her hips as he held her closer and they began to sway ever so slightly, barely moving. Rachel felt his breath feather across her mouth as she tipped her face up, watching the emotions flit through the eyes she knew would be blue in better light.

"You're mine now, Rachel, and I don't take that lightly. Nor do I take for granted the second chance you've given me." His gaze wavered, drawn for a long moment to her lips before returning to lock with hers again. "I'm going to spend the rest of my life proving to you that I deserve it."

"You already have." She touched his lower lip with her fingertips, a whisper of a touch, as light and soft as he'd caressed her back minutes before. "If I'm yours, does that mean you're mine, too?"

He chuckled. "I was yours the moment I first heard you sing."

"But that's different."

"Yes," he agreed. "You won me over the way an exceptional performer wins over any member of her audience. What clinched it came afterward."

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "What was that?"

The song changed, but the next was still slow. Rachel wondered if Jesse had deliberately made a playlist they could slow-dance to, for just such an occasion. It wouldn't surprise her a bit.

"After your Sectionals competition last year, I hung out back by the buses, watching you all get ready to leave. I saw Hudson put a hand on your back, and even from a distance I could see how your eyes lit when he touched you." Jesse's own eyes darkened. "I knew already that he couldn't possibly deserve you—especially not with the glares Quinn kept sending your way. Maybe I didn't know the full extent of everything at the time, but I knew enough. I knew you could do so much better, and I aimed to be the guy to show you that."

Rachel tucked her head against his shoulder. His arms were warm, shielding her from the chill in the night air without obscuring the little breezes that played beguilingly against her skin. "You were," she said, hiding her smile against his jacket. "I loved you too much the first time not to give you a second chance, Jesse."

"Then I'm glad I gathered the courage to ask for one." His arms tightened fractionally, and she felt the soft pressure of a kiss in her hair. "I'm not going to screw this up again. You mean too much to me."

Rachel closed her eyes, savoring the evening with her other senses. The soft music—the night air—Jesse's arms holding her as they swayed gently, not quite dancing. The moment was perfect, and she believed him. This time—this time, they'd get it right.

* * *

><p><em>AN: So...who wants part 3? Or is that really pushing it too far in a collection of oneshots? It's totally up to y'all. (JSYK, though, part 3 is the sexy part.) Mwah!_


	11. Prom Queen Part 3

_A/N: Well, here it is! The sexy bit, like I promised. I'm still not entirely sure how a oneshot request from northstar turned into a three-installment project, but thanks for sticking with me through it!_

_As always, all standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

><p><strong>Get Me Back (part 3)<strong>

"That's the last song on the playlist."

"Mm." Rachel blinked as she reluctantly pulled her head away from Jesse's shoulder. This had been absolutely perfect—better than she could ever have imagined, by far. "I guess we should probably go anyway. Before people start leaving and find us."

"We'll go because we want to, and only when you're ready," Jesse said firmly. "No one's going to push us around."

How was it that he always knew what to say? "Are you a mind reader?" she asked, mock suspiciously, as she let him lead her around to the passenger's side of his SUV.

Jesse chuckled, and this time when he offered her his jacket, Rachel accepted. She wasn't terribly cold, but if she couldn't have his arms wrapped around her while they danced, she'd take the next best thing. His jacket was ridiculously big on her, but it was warm and it smelled like him. She turned her cheek into the lapel, breathing in as he helped her into the car.

"I'm definitely not a mind reader," he said, taking her hands, "because I have a proposition for you, and I don't know what you're going to say."

"If it has anything to do with spending more time with you, the answer is yes."

His smile broadened, and it was beautiful. He had excellent oral hygiene—something Finn couldn't always say—and Rachel had heard that that was a good indicator of self-assurance. "I'm glad to hear that, but hear me out first."

"Okay." Rachel squeezed his hand and waited. Jesse St. James was always full of surprises, and maybe in the past some of those had not been entirely pleasant, but she wasn't afraid. She trusted him. She couldn't look into those clear blue eyes and not trust him.

"We can't crash any afterparties—you know that as well as I do. When you agreed to go to the dance with Sam and Mercedes, prom on a budget meant no afterparty. And after our run-in with Hudson, I doubt we'd be welcome at any you'd want to go to, anyway."

It was the truth, but Rachel didn't care. "I don't want to go to a big, loud afterparty anyway," she said. "I'd rather spend more time with you. What's the plan?"

Jesse looked hesitant—something she didn't expect from him. "Don't freak out, okay? We don't have to do it."

"Do what?" She squeezed his hand again. "Just tell me, Jesse."

"I rented us a hotel room." He held up a restraining hand before she could speak. "Not for that. Prom is already enough of a cliche—although we've managed to make this one pretty original, I like to think."

Rachel had to agree. She'd been part of the entertainment, and they'd caused a scene without getting thrown out—Jesse and Finn had even (sort of) had a fight without any noses getting broken or blood being shed. Then the rest of the evening spent out here, in the parking lot, dancing to their own chosen music at their special private prom...definitely not a conventional evening by any stretch of the imagination.

"I just...I want to spend more time with you. Be close to you." The hesitation was back in his eyes, and Rachel was amazed at it. Not only was it unexpected, but she found it kind of adorable. "I didn't know your dads weren't around, but I do know you don't feel comfortable at my parents' house, even without them in it." He brushed his free hand across the sweep of hissing tulle over her knee. "I thought it might be nice to relax for a night—just you and me. No fear about anyone barging in on us, no worries about anything. We can put on a movie and order room service—even dance some more if you want. Whatever feels right."

Rachel considered the idea. It was an incredibly sweet gesture, wanting to do something to keep the night from ending so soon. He was right, too. Even when they were locked away in her room, they were always aware that they were in her fathers' house, and that a knock at the door could come at any moment. Though it wouldn't happen tonight—her dads were gone for the weekend—the knowledge still hung over them every time they were alone together. Whether in his house or hers, they were never really alone. The specters of parental rules were alive in the air, coloring every touch, even the most innocent. While she understood the implications of a hotel room, she trusted him when he said sex wasn't his intent. Oh, it was probably on his radar. He _was_ a guy, after all. Truth be told, it was on her radar, too. But that didn't mean they were going to do it tonight. They could totally keep things sweetly innocent, couldn't they? Of course they could. And the thought of spending the night with him together in their own little space, a place that was neither hers nor his, appealed to her greatly.

"Let's go," she said definitively, turning to sit the right way in her seat.

"Really?"

"Of course." Rachel smiled and reached for him. "You have to be the sweetest boy ever to think of something like that."

"I aim to please," he said, full confidence returned, and he leaned into the car to steal a quick kiss before shutting the door and heading for the driver's side.

The drive was pleasant, and Rachel found the easy familiarity between them did not fade even as the evening lengthened and they approached their destination. She wasn't nervous at all, which she supposed she maybe ought to be—after all, she was headed to a hotel with a boy. But it was _Jesse_. If anyone else had asked her—Puck or Finn—she wouldn't have agreed to go. Noah _definitely_ wouldn't have meant it if he said a hotel room wasn't for sex, and she wasn't entirely sure Finn would, either. Not after what she'd learned about him and Santana. But Jesse wasn't a liar. Whatever else he might be, he wasn't that. When he'd said in his parents' attic that he intended to have sex with her at some time in the future, she believed him. Now he was saying that tonight wasn't that night, and she believed that, too.

It was a fancy hotel, which Rachel supposed she should have guessed. Jesse never did anything by halves, and he was used to the finer things in life. Rachel's dads made good money and she had never wanted for anything, but Jesse lived on an entirely different level. He didn't even blink as he led her through the lobby and up the elevator, her hand clasped in his. He had a duffel bag over his shoulder and a key card in his other hand, and Rachel leaned against his shoulder as he let her into the room and snapped on the light.

It was big, clean, and blandly normal, which Rachel found that she actually liked. She bounced on the edge of the big bed and kicked her shoes off, stretching her feet and wiggling her toes. She wasn't entirely used to wearing heels for quite that long, and it felt good to let them drop.

"Tired?" Jesse asked, locking the door behind him with a smile.

"Not really." What time was it, anyway? Rachel didn't know, nor did she care. "I'm too happy to be tired."

"Fair enough. What would you like to do, then? Dance? Relax? Plot world domination?"

She giggled at his joke, though she knew the question was real. All things considered, she thought she'd maybe danced her fill for the night. But there was one thing she hadn't considered when agreeing so quickly to Jesse's plan—a formal dress wasn't exactly the most comfortable thing for lounging in, and she didn't have anything else with her. She wished she'd thought of that earlier so she could have asked him to stop at her house first, but it was too late now. Rachel worried her lower lip between her teeth as she considered her answer.

"You asked me before if I was a mind reader," Jesse said, interrupting her train of thought. She looked up at him through her bangs, waiting to hear what he might say. "I'm not—not ordinarily, anyway. But may I make a small attempt?"

"Of course." A smile lurked at the corners of her mouth and she felt herself struggling to keep it at bay. He'd been marvelously good at this mind-reading thing so far, and she wondered if this time he'd be up to the challenge.

Jesse set the small duffel bag on the bed and unzipped it. From its depths he tossed out a few well-loved DVDs, his iPod—which she hadn't even seen him tuck inside the bag—and some neatly-folded clothing. He shook out a charcoal-colored t-shirt that looked like it would be baggy even on him and held it out to her. There was a twinkle in his eye and a grin on his face as he offered the shirt.

Rachel took the shirt, abandoning her quest not to smile, and she put her arms around him, squeezing tightly. "You _are_ a mind reader," she accused, her stomach fluttering as his warm hands slid down her bare back.

"I'm really not." He chuckled and kissed her neck, fingering the sparkling necklace she wore. "Merely practical. Formalwear is all well and good for the right occasion, but it's not very conducive to comfort."

"Very true." Rachel straightened, shirt in hand, and was about to head to the bathroom to change when something stopped her. She smiled again, hoping it looked innocent enough, and turned her back to him. "Unzip me?" It was all very well to say they weren't having sex tonight, but that didn't mean she couldn't tease a little bit.

Jesse only laughed. She was pretty sure he knew exactly what she was doing, but he played along anyway, his hands running across the low line of the back of the dress before gently tugging down the delicate zipper. "Careful, Rachel," he warned, though his voice was light. "You play with fire and you'll get exactly what you ask for, cliche or no cliche."

Jesse was no liar, and she didn't doubt him for an instant. Swallowing hard, she slipped into the bathroom.

His shirt smelled like him—like whatever detergent and fabric softener he used—and it fell softly to mid-thigh. Rachel hugged herself hard once it was on, and she slowly took the dangly earrings out of her ears. It didn't really feel like putting a costume away, like her night was over and the magic of it was being set aside. Because the boy who made everything magical for her was waiting right on the other side of that door. Her night wasn't over at all. In some ways, it was just getting started.

He was sitting on the bed when she emerged, and he'd changed into a pair of the sweat pants he used for dance practice and a t-shirt that looked very much like the one he'd given her. He held out a hand and she crawled up between his legs, settling her back against his chest and letting him slip his arms around her. "I hope you know you're not getting this shirt back," she said.

He dropped a kiss against her shoulder, and his hands rose to start carefully freeing her hair from the complicated ponytail she'd worn all evening. "I hope you know I may steal something of yours in return."

"You couldn't fit into anything of mine."

"I didn't say I was going to wear it."

The way he said it made Rachel pretty sure there was an underlying dirty meaning to his words, but she didn't understand so she dismissed them. "Is there anything good on TV?"

"I haven't checked." He grabbed the remote from the nightstand and offered it to her. "Are you hungry?"

"I could be. What is there?"  
>"Ever ordered pizza to a hotel room before? It's probably better than anything on the room service menu before."<p>

"Breadstix and pizza?" Rachel teased. "You're definitely not watching your carbs tonight."

"Not tonight," he agreed, and he kissed the top of her head before reaching for his phone. "The usual?"

"Yup." Rachel moved, sprawling on her stomach on the wide bed and turning the TV on. It felt wonderful to think that they even _had_ a usual—that ordering late night pizza was something they'd done often enough that he knew what she liked, though he always gave her the chance to change her mind. They'd never done this in a hotel before, though, and that definitely put a different spin on things. As she familiarized herself with the remote, absently flicking through channels, she felt Jesse's hand sweep gently across the back of her lower calf, then stroke her ankle absently. His voice as he placed the order over the phone was familiar and comforting, as was the hand on her leg. She loved his gentle touches, and she loved touching him in return.

"I thought Brittany's choice of citrine as a prom dress color was daring," she said idly, "especially paired with that top-hat headband. But she pulled it off."

"The key to an outfit like that is confidence." Jesse tossed his phone on the nightstand and sprawled next to her, their bent forearms just touching. "Brittany really seems to have come into her own since she stopped wearing that trashy polyester cheerleading uniform every day."

"Yeah," Rachel agreed as she paused for a moment on a figure-skating routine. Her fathers had let her skate for a while when she was younger, but she'd dropped the expensive lessons as she gravitated more and more toward the theater. "Nobody knew she had it in her."

"The fashion trendsetter? I could see it." Jesse reached out and firmly depressed the channel button on which her finger was hovering.

"Not a fan of figure skating?" Rachel skimmed over a couple of episodes of old sitcoms. "What made you suspect Brittany of hidden genius?"

Jesse snorted lightly. "Not genius—you mistake me. She has no fear—whether that confidence is warranted or not is another story, but regardless, she has it. That outfit she wore to prom was absolutely ridiculous, but she was able to pull it off because she believed in it. She believed enough that everyone else did, too."

Rachel considered his words as she flicked through more channels. Like so often happened, Jesse seemed to be right. Brittany knew no fear, and that was probably why she was so popular despite everything else. Well, the fact that she put out for pretty much the entire male half of the student body likely didn't hurt, either.

"You're like that, too," Jesse said, breaking into her thoughts.

"Me?" Rachel raised a skeptical eye. She really didn't want to rehash for him the story of how she tried to use Brittany to make her own fashion sense catch on at McKinley, but if he thought she had that sort of pull, he was sorely mistaken.

"I know that look, and I stand by my statement." He took the remote from her hand and set it aside so her attention was instantly riveted on him. "When you're on stage, Rachel, you make your audience believe in you just like Brittany makes the school believe in her. You sell not only the music, but everything you do. Some actors can be trained, but you never had to be—I can see it when you move up there. You're a natural. You know yourself on the stage—you're at home. I'm not saying it's possible, but if you could only figure out how to capture that...that confidence, that magic, and use it in your day to day life, you'd rule McKinley."

Rachel flushed and she felt the heat in her cheeks. "I don't know what to say."

"It's just an observation."

She felt his kiss in her hair just moments before there was a knock at the door. He rose to get the pizza and, as she moved to sit up, she heard the distinct buzzing sound of a call on her phone. She dug in her little purse, tossed on the bed, and pulled the pink phone out.

"Rachel?"

It was her fathers. She relaxed a little. Part of her had been afraid it might be Finn or one of the other members of New Directions, ready to chew her out for bringing Jesse to prom. "Daddy," she said, holding up a finger to Jesse as he settled back on the bed. He grinned and unfolded a paper napkin, trying to tuck it into the neckband of her borrowed shirt. She giggled and swatted him away. "I'm here," she told her dads as Jesse lifted the cardboard lid of the pizza box and proceeded to sprinkle red pepper flakes all over his half.

"This will only take a minute," Hiram said. She could hear her other father muttering in the background, but that was absolutely normal. "Is the dance over? Did you have a good time?"

"Yes, the dance is over," Rachel said, wiggling her sore toes happily as she watched Jesse inhale his first few bites of pizza. No matter how careful he usually was about his diet, he could still eat like any other teenage boy when he let himself. "It was perfect. Everything I could have hoped for."

"Well, let's hope you have something left to hope for next year, huh? Or does senior prom not count anymore?"

"Of course it does," Rachel said, smiling softly at the boy sitting beside her on the big hotel bed. Certainly senior prom was still a huge deal, but she was positive Jesse would find a way to outdo himself yet again. He _was_ Jesse St. James, after all. "But that doesn't make tonight any less perfect. It was a dream, daddy."

"Uh-huh," Hiram said knowingly. "Do your dreams involve flaunting Jesse around in front of poor Finn?"

"Poor Finn?" Rachel protested, though she knew by the tone of his voice that her dad didn't mean a word of it. Jesse raised an eyebrow, his slice of pizza halted halfway to his mouth. "He called you, didn't he? He threatened to."

"He certainly did," Hiram confirmed. "Rachel, he was so adamant about it that I have to ask. Are you at home?"

"No," Rachel said willingly. Her dads trusted her and she absolutely wasn't going to lie to them. Besides, she wasn't ashamed of Jesse and she refused to act like she was.

"Are you in the car on your way home?"

"No."

"Planning to go home tonight at all?"

"Probably not."

Hiram's answering sigh was a little amused, a little resigned. "You know we trust you, honey. I wouldn't have agreed to accompany your dad to this conference if we didn't. Not on prom weekend."

"That's such a cliche, dad."

"Nonetheless." A soft chuckle sounded over the distance. "Do me a favor? I won't lecture you about being responsible if you promise to try not to rub this in Finn's face."

"Since when do you care what Finn thinks?" Rachel asked, bristling slightly. "_He_ broke up with _me_."

"And you've shown him tonight in no uncertain terms how wrong he was," Hiram said succinctly. "Look, honey, we're not taking his side. Frankly, if you must have a boyfriend—and that's something your father isn't at all convinced of yet, so give him some time—Jesse's our pick, too. Not that it matters what your old man thinks."

"I always care about what you think."

"Then just think about cutting Finn some slack, huh? Rejection sucks. You know that—you've been there. I'm not asking you to lie, but just maybe try to tone down the glow a little bit when he's around. The whole world can see how head-over-heels you and Jesse are for each other. Just...maybe try not to make it quite so obvious?"

"I'll think about it," Rachel allowed, though she wasn't sure she'd be able to. The way she felt about Jesse...it wasn't something she could mute.

"That's all we can ask of you. I'm sorry there was drama at prom, but it sounds like it didn't ruin your evening."

"Nope," Rachel confirmed. "Jesse and I together were more than a match for him."

"Of course you were. Now—be responsible, please. If you're drinking, I don't want you driving. If you're—you know, I'm not even going to say it, because your dad's listening. Just—be careful."

"I will," Rachel promised, feeling her face flame. "I love you, daddy."

"We love you, too, honey. We'll see you after school on Monday."

When Rachel ended the call and closed her phone, Jesse set his slice of pizza back in the box and set the box aside. "So the beanstalk finked, huh?"

"You gathered?" Rachel did not protest as he drew her into his arms. She knelt, straddling his legs, feeling the hem of the t-shirt ride dangerously high on her thighs.

"It wasn't exactly difficult to guess," Jesse said. "I can't believe he actually did it, though. The threat was ridiculous enough."

Rachel drew her hands down his chest, liking the feel of the soft, worn cotton much better than his starched dress shirt. "My dad actually asked us to go easy on him—said we were too obvious and it wasn't nice."

Jesse's jaw tightened. "We _are_ obvious," he said, "and it _isn't_ nice. But Hudson broke up with you, not the other way around. Besides, he's got plenty of payback coming his way for everything he's done to you over the past two years."

"I'm not the vindictive type, Jesse."

"No," he agreed, "you're not. But I am." His arms slid around her waist, and Rachel shivered at what she saw in his eyes. "I was an idiot, Rachel, but he knew what he was doing, and he kept doing it. I learned my lesson after the first time I hurt you, and I couldn't possibly do it again. He keeps it up. How many times has he lied to you—manipulated the truth to get you to do what he wanted? How many times has he pushed you away and broken up with you? How many times has he let other girls—Quinn or Santana—flaunt their relationship just to hurt you?" Jesse shook his head firmly. "It's not right, Rachel. I get that your dads don't know the half of it, but they can't ask you to spare his feelings when he obviously doesn't have the same respect for yours."

"Well, what do you suggest we do, then?"

Jesse's head moved, dipping slowly, and he ran his lips across the curve of her throat. She made a soft sound at the unexpected contact and tilted her head to the side, exposing more skin. He kissed again, and bit softly just where her pulse beat. "The vindictive part of me wants to take you right here, right now," he said, his voice low and dark, "to make him more jealous than he already is."

"Yeah?" Rachel slipped her arms around his shoulders. Normally she wasn't a vengeful person. If she tried getting back at everyone who had ever hurt her, she wouldn't have time for anything else. But Jesse painted a beguiling picture, and not just with his words. His hands slid down her sides, over her hips and down to the hem of her borrowed shirt. He'd told her they weren't going to do this, but that was before and this was now. Plans changed all the time, right? There was nothing so very wrong about that. "What about the rest of you?"

He exhaled a low, hot breath against her skin, and Rachel shuddered. He'd barely touched her and already she was putty in his hands.

"The rest of me just wants you," Jesse said tightly, and he squeezed her thighs. "It doesn't fucking care about Hudson."

For some reason, the sound of the curse word in his mouth sent a rush of...something...shooting through her. "Let's go with that, then," she said, and she turned her head to meet his mouth.

Instantly his hands were on her—hot and firm, and she had no doubt that he knew exactly what he wanted despite the fact that this wasn't supposed to happen tonight. Screw it, she thought with the small part of her mind still functioning rationally. Her dads probably suspected it anyway, and Finn had downright feared it.

"If people are going to talk," she murmured, the words broken by Jesse's insistent mouth, "let's give them something to talk about."

"You have the best ideas," he said, and then their mouths were doing anything but talking.

Rachel had made out with Jesse plenty of times before. She was familiar with the way he touched her—his demanding mouth, and the way his hands smoothly explored her body, turning the smallest caress into something that left her desperately wanting more. He had a way of smoothing his fingertip across a perfectly pedestrian swatch of skin—her kneecap, or the curve of her collarbone—and turning her into jelly.

But there was something different about tonight. He wasn't holding back anymore, and she could tell. Instead of stopping just above her knee as usual, his hands slid higher. They slipped under the hem of the baggy shirt, and she jerked in surprise as he grabbed her panty-clad ass and squeezed. He'd never been quite so forward before.

But she liked it. Earlier in the evening she'd thought about how much she enjoyed his hands on her body, and though the context was different, this was no exception. She let him slide his hands higher, the material of the borrowed shirt sliding off her body as he drew it over her head. She ducked out of it, heart hammering in her chest as she shook her hair free and met the intense blue of his eyes.

His shirt followed almost instantly, and before she could draw a breath to say anything, his mouth was on hers again. Powerful kisses—vibrant and intense. He alternated deep kisses full of tongues and wet heat with softer ones, even little pecks to the very corners of her mouth.

"Relax," he said, grating the word out against her throat. "You'll be flying soon if you just relax and trust me."

Trust him? Of course she trusted him. She wouldn't be here if she didn't. Rachel took a breath and nodded, willing her tense body to settle, to try to relax as he instructed. She didn't quite understand what he meant about flying, but she was honestly feeling pretty good. His hands drew lines of fire across her skin, and his mouth felt even better. When he lowered his head and tugged a nipple into his mouth, her hands clenched on his shoulders and she had to bite her lip to keep from vocalizing. It was such a strange, foreign sensation. His mouth was hot and wet, and his tongue flicked and rubbed across the sensitive bud. Her back arched involuntarily and a low moan was torn from her mouth as he covered her other breast with his hand, his thumb teasing the nipple to hardness.

"Jesse," she gasped, unsure what she was trying to say. That it felt good—yes. That she wanted him to keep going—definitely. But there was something more there. Something she desperately felt the need to convey. His touch was intensely personal, his hands and mouth flowing over skin that had never been touched before. She knew he knew that—trusted him not to push too hard or too fast this first time.

That it was only a first time, Rachel had no doubt. He made a noise she could only describe as hungry, and he pushed forward with his body, easing her to her back on the bed. He hovered over her, resting on one arm while his mouth was still latched onto a breast, his hand kneading at the other. There was something she desperately wanted to communicate—something she felt like she needed to tell him, but she didn't know how, or even what.

Jesse shifted before she could figure it out, and the hand that was on her breast moved to stroke her arm. He found her hand with his and grasped it, then guided her inside the waistband of his sweatpants.

It was like a maze of material—waistband, then reaching through the opening at the front of his boxers, but suddenly he was in her hand and she swallowed hard as he moved her hand in his, stroking down his hard, swollen length. The skin was surprisingly soft—almost velvety—against her palm, and she stroked him again, feeling a little bolder as his hand fell away and he let her take over.

Yes—he had understood without words. This was what she had wanted to communicate—wanted to share. There weren't words to explain or quantify, but she felt him shudder with pleasure as she moved her hand, learning him in a way she'd never known another human being.

His hands moved over her, firm but never rough, and she felt her body light with sensation, with intense pleasure. Each sweep of hand against skin was sweet fire, and he didn't stop kissing her the entire time. His mouth locked with hers, or nipped along her shoulder, or grated against her clavicle. She loved the smell of warm skin, the brush of his hair against her as he moved his head. His hands were magic—finding spots she never thought would respond so powerfully. When he ducked his head and lifted her leg, swirling his tongue at the back of her knee, she shuddered and gasped. It was so intimate, so unexpected. He worked his way up the top of her leg, dropping kisses or pausing to suck leisurely at a particular spot, but never pushing to dip between them.

Really, she thought, as she let him slide his hands up her sides, closing over her breasts again, it was going to be Jesse anyway. From the beginning—the very first time his eyes met hers over a music book—she'd known deep down that he was going to be her first. Her first real love, and the first person to really challenge her on a level far beyond everything she'd been privy to before. So of course he'd be the first for this, too. It didn't really matter that Finn had broken Jesse's resolve. It was going to happen anyway. The reason wasn't important.

"You're thinking too much," Jesse said, his voice breathy. "I can tell, and I'm not doing my job very well if you can still think."

Rachel smiled and shoved at his sweatpants. He obliged, shucking them off and returning to her. They were both clad only in their underwear now, and Rachel felt a thrill of nerves run up her spine as he settled on top of her, his desire very apparent. "Would it make you feel any better to know I was thinking about you?"

He kissed her gently and, just like that, all thoughts of Finn and his part in this melted away. She arched her back as he squeezed her backside, urging her to rock her body against his. "You'd better be," he said, and the slightly darker quality to his tone surprised her.

"As opposed to...?" she asked, stilling her movements and waiting for him to do the same. Her body was not pleased with this, but she ignored it. The strange darkness in his tone needed to be addressed before they could go any further.

"_Him_."

Oh. Instantly Rachel brought her hands up to cup his cheeks, and she held him still, her eyes locking with his and not letting him look away. Finn's comments at dinner, and then his interruption during the dance—she knew Jesse liked none of it, but she hadn't realized until this moment quite how badly it affected him. Her father's half-joking suggestion to cut the taller boy some slack had probably been the final straw, and she now wished she'd never mentioned it to him. "Jesse," she said, quiet but firm. She loved the way his name sounded when she said it—the soft esses, like a gentle susurration, drifting off into the gentle final vowel. She liked it so much, she said it again. "Jesse, no."

"He's not what you need, Rachel." He licked his lips, and her attention was instantly diverted to his mouth. It was almost laughable, really, how much his body affected her, especially in light of her resistance to every other member of the male population who had tried to get her into this position. Finn? Finn had nothing to do with any of it, except breaking Jesse's control enough to let this finally happen.

"I have everything I need right here," she said, returning her eyes to his. "I'm yours, Jesse. I know you're jealous, and I don't think there's anything I can do or say to make you stop feeling that way. I'm sorry for that—truly I am. It's a terrible feeling."

A hint of his trademark cocky smirk quivered at the corner of his mouth. "Knowing I've won makes it better."

Rachel smiled, relaxing back into the soft bed. Of course it did. The two things he was best at, after all, were winning and destroying the competition. Tonight he'd done both; he just didn't seem to fully realize it yet.

She could help with that.

"Does it?" she said, thought she didn't need the confirmation. "What about confirming just how much you've won?"

"God, yes."

His head snaked down and his mouth captured hers, and thoughts of Finn, jealousy, and anything other than her body and his were instantly gone. Utterly banished. His mouth was hot and hungry, and she met his need with an answering ferocity that surprised her. Not for the first time—not even for the first time that _night__—_she wondered if she was turning into a sex addict like her choir director apparently was. Was it normal to crave someone else's touch this badly? To _need_ the way he stole her breath when he kissed her, his hand coming up to palm her breast again, the nipple hardening instantly under his insistent touch? Intrinsically, she knew that this might be their first time, but it definitely wouldn't be the last. And they hadn't even really done anything yet. Not _really_.

Jesse's mouth left hers only to trail wet, open-mouthed kisses over her sternum and down the valley between her breasts, pausing to nibble and suck at the curving edge of a rib and the soft concavity of her stomach, the gentle plane of flesh moving quickly with her panting breaths. She thought she was going to lose it for sure when his teeth grated over the knob of her hipbone.

"You're so responsive," he murmured against her skin. He nuzzled the soft flesh just above the waistline of her panties and Rachel didn't know whether she was still capable of breathing.

"Maybe you're just good at this," she managed to say, one of her hands finding his head and weaving into his hair, stroking through the soft, messy curls.

"Oh, I am," he assured her, tipping his head up to flash her a reassuring grin. "But where would Fred be without Ginger? Even a master needs his perfect match to duet." He dropped his head again and exhaled a long, deliberate, hot breath over the small swatch of skin still hidden by her underwear. She gasped, and her entire body clenched. "I know I've already found mine."

Rachel had absolutely nothing she could say to that, especially since he took the opportunity just then to tug at her last remaining piece of clothing. She offered no resistance, and it slid down her legs and was tossed to the floor in an instant.

Jesse returned his attention to her hipbone, then kissed a tempting line across to the other. Rachel held his head, her hand woven into his hair, though she tried neither to guide nor to stop him. She didn't want him to stop, and if she was honest with herself, she didn't know what she wanted to guide him to do. Just because she didn't have firsthand experience didn't mean she was unaware of what his head so close to that...area...might mean, but she honestly wasn't sure she wanted to try that. It seemed a little...embarrassing?

He began to kiss his way back along his previous path between her hipbones, and he moved his body at the same time, sliding his hands between her legs and pushing them apart, cupping them in his grasp.

"Jesse..." she said, and the trembling timbre of her voice surprised her. She felt surprisingly vulnerable, all at once, as he settled between her legs, holding them firmly apart.

"I won't hurt you," he said, and his voice was all the reassurance she needed. She knew he wouldn't hurt her. That was never a thought in her mind, despite her body's instinctual reaction to his sudden movement. "If you don't like it, I'll stop." He paused, and his head tipped up once again. The mischievous twinkle in his eyes was surprisingly...hot. "But I don't see that happening."

He dropped his head, kissing just above her mons, before moving slowly down. He kissed just below the small patch of curls at the juncture of her thighs, and she exhaled shakily as he breathed against her labia. Moving a hand slowly, he parted her folds and placed a soft kiss on her clit.

Ohhh... She thought the moan but managed not to voice it, holding herself in check for the moment as he breathed against her again, his breath somehow feeling hot and cold at the same time. She trembled at the overload of sensation—her legs sprawled to either side of his shoulders, one still held in place by a firm hand as his other hand held her folds open.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, his lips just grazing her clit, and she jumped at the sensation. It was so...private. So intense. So strange and new.

And it felt _so_ good.

"Touch me," she heard herself saying without making the conscious decision to speak.

"Technically, I already am." He squeezed her thigh as if for proof, and his lips grazed her clit again. A tremor ran through her body.

"_More_." It was her voice, but she hardly recognized it. The breathy, pleading quality was something she'd never imagined coming out of her own mouth.

As if in answer to her plea, his mouth touched her again. Except this time, instead of the barest hint of contact between his lips and her skin, he used his tongue. Just a small swipe, starting under her clit and sweeping up and over it, but it was enough to make her world explode. Her hips jerked without her conscious control, and her head rocked back into the pillow, a sharp cry pulled from her lips. Was this flying? Was this what he meant? Because just that one touch from his tongue and she felt like she was falling apart, it felt so good.

"Easy, Rach," he said, and she could _feel_ the words spoken against her skin. "Just relax...if you can."

It was a reasonable caveat—her whole body was tensing at each new sensation, her nerves taut and on edge. She wasn't afraid, but it was so new, so unknown, and so overwhelming. "Is this flying?" she heard herself asking in that same breathy voice.

"Not even close. Just hold on—we'll get there."

Hold onto what? she wanted to quip, but then he licked her again and coherent thought was abandoned as sensation took over. She knew she was tightening her fist in his hair, but he wasn't complaining and she didn't honestly know if she could stop. His tongue continued with slow swipes, each one getting a little longer as he moved millimeter by millimeter further down, closer to her entrance, coming up to cover her clit each time. She tried to control the erratic jerks of her hips, but she wasn't always able to. His tongue was about the same temperature as her flesh, neither particularly warm nor cold, but each time he breathed against her she felt a chill at the inhalation and a gust of heat when he exhaled. She was surprised that she could actually feel the texture of his tongue—not rough, but not exactly smooth, either. He traveled lower, lower, and when he finally reached her entrance, another cry was pulled from her lips as he dipped inside.

It was such a strange sensation, but so good. There was an ache growing low in her belly—a tension that had nothing to do with the tightness in her arms and spine. Then, when he pushed his tongue firmly inside, the ache somehow intensified. With a start, she realized that her body was wanting this. Not just the intense, pleasurable sensations of his mouth on her skin. The ache was wanting—_craving_—to be...filled. Her body wanted him inside her.

When his tongue withdrew, her body was not best pleased. She whimpered slightly, and once again the small part of her mind still capable of coherent thought was shocked at the noises she was making. Not only were they being torn from her without her conscious control, but they were actually kind of loud.

But the ache that wanted to be filled was utterly drowned out in another moment as he brought his mouth back to her flesh, covering her clit and sucking at it.

The noises she'd made before were nothing compared to the ones she vaguely heard now as her hips jerked toward his mouth. He held her still with one hand, and in the back of her mind she knew he was technically still being fairly slow and gentle, but every sensation was brand new and she felt it tenfold. His tongue laved against her clit as he sucked, not as hard as he had her nipples, but no less insistently. Her whole body convulsed, every nerve ending firing at the intense sensation that was almost too much.

The hand that wasn't holding her still moved, stroking her folds gently. She felt her body straining against his hold, trying to writhe, but he kept the important part of her anatomy reasonably still. A finger passed over her entrance and then hovered there as if warning her before it pushed inside.

Oh, that felt...strange and good and...god, just...everything. His finger reached far deeper than his tongue, and she felt herself...not stretching, exactly, but...accepting him. _Wanting_ him. He pulled out smoothly and pushed back in, just as he sucked down a little more firmly on her clit, and without warning, she came.

There was no doubt this time—he was right, and she was flying. She saw stars, she was pretty sure she cried his name—absolutely everything he had promised. Pleasure rolled through her in waves and her body convulsed around him, every muscle tightening and going limp. He was strong enough to still hold her thigh down so she wasn't squeezing his head, and he kept licking and suckling, following her jerky movements until her body became too sensitive in the aftermath and she cried out for him to stop.

He did stop...and he didn't. He immediately released her clit, but he did not move from his spot between her legs, and he continued to move a finger slowly within her. Her body throbbed and pulsed, quivering with aftershocks, and she shuddered as he moved his hand, no longer holding her down.

"You're exquisite, Rachel," he said, kissing her thigh softly, running his lips gently over her trembling flesh. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do that."

"Jesse," she managed to say. "I don't know what to say."

"Flying, Rach."

"Flying," she agreed.

He chuckled and kissed her other thigh. As her body slowly came back to her, she realized that the ache to be filled was still there—still just as strong. His finger felt good, especially the way he was moving it slowly in and out of her, but it wasn't stopping the ache. She shifted, feeling almost restless, and felt him move, too. He sat up a little more, watching her with an expression she could only call intent, and this time when his finger withdrew and went to push back into her, he added another.

She made a soft sound and leaned back against the pillow. She'd felt boneless after that, but now some of the tension was returning to her body. Was the wanting, the need, supposed to return this quickly? She didn't know. But it felt so good—she _was_ stretching now, though it didn't hurt. And two fingers were better than one for easing the needy ache within her, but they didn't stop it. She had a feeling only one thing would.

"Jesse," she said, reaching for him with shaking hands, "I want you."

He pushed his fingers back into her at a different angle and she made another sound. That felt...amazing. Better than before. She rocked against his hand, eager for more.

But he withdrew completely this time, and she whimpered, raising her head to scowl at him. Why was he stopping?

"Patience for two seconds, Rach," he said, the trademark smirk in place. He kissed her stomach, then reached for the discarded duffel bag on the floor. "It's a good thing I'm always prepared, even though I wasn't planning on this tonight."

"You don't need that," she said quickly, realizing what he was reaching for. "Jesse, I need you. Please." Yep, she thought, feeling resigned. Definitely a sex addict already, and she wasn't even technically _there_ yet.

"Oh, yes, I do," he said firmly. "We're going to make beautiful, talented babies someday, Rach, but not right now."

"Which is more or less what my dads said two years ago when they put me on birth control as a precautionary measure," she said, reaching for him. She gripped the skin of his arm, feeling the thin sheen of sweat already covering both their bodies. "It's safe, Jesse. It's fine."

"No jokes?"

"No jokes," she assured him, tugging on his arm. To her relief, he abandoned his search through the duffel bag and returned to her. She discovered that she didn't like him being so far away from her, and she felt much better as he settled himself half on top of her, one of his legs snaking between hers. His eyes were brilliantly blue, and when he lowered his mouth and kissed her, she could taste herself on him. At first she wasn't sure what she thought about that, but then his tongue was in her mouth, his hand on her breast, and she abandoned the attempt at rational thought.

"You're perfect," he mumbled against her lips. "Everything. Your body, your taste, your responses—everything."

She tugged at the waistband of his boxers. His declarations were all well and good, but they were doing absolutely nothing for her physically. The ache was still there, and she _knew_ he must be getting uncomfortable, waiting and putting off his own pleasure.

He acquiesced without a struggle, removing the last bit of fabric before returning to her. "Do you want to be on top this first time?" he asked, kissing her gently. "You can control it that way, but I'll reach deeper, which you may not want just yet."

She shook her head. "I want you to do it, Jesse." Of that, she was utterly sure. She hoped that all thoughts of Finn were out of his head by now, but if they weren't, maybe that would make him see that this was something she was giving _him_. Something she wanted _him_ to do. No one else.

"Slow or fast?"

"Slow," she said, bringing her hands up to grip his shoulders. "So I can feel you."

"Oh, you'll feel me," he promised. "In a minute, I'm all you'll feel. All you'll know."

"You already are."

She could tell by the glint in his eye and the way he kissed her that he loved when she said things like that. Vaguely she wondered if it was a problem that she liked to stroke his ego from time to time. God knew he didn't need it, but she loved that look he got when she did it anyway.

"Hold on," he said, and he moved, adjusting their position on the bed. "Flying, remember."

"Flying," she agreed. He settled between her legs, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world as her hips canted upward, her thighs parting and holding his hips. He angled a hand between them, holding the shaft whose skin had felt so soft in her hand.

"Relax," he murmured, covering her mouth with his, "and fly with me."

He pushed forward slowly, and this time she definitely felt the stretch, though it wasn't quite what she would call painful. It was...intense. The keening ache inside her wanted him so badly that the burning stretch actually felt good. It was easing the ache, the need to feel him so deeply inside. True to his word, his actions remained slow for quite some time. She could feel every inch as he pressed forward and then withdrew, never actually leaving her body.

It was actually more like dancing with him than flying, Rachel thought as she moved, arching her back, rocking her pelvis in time with his not-quite-thrusts. She had always had a knack for picking up choreography rather quickly, and if the noises Jesse was making and the taut expression on his face meant anything, this was no exception. She was ridiculously inexperienced and she knew that, but she seemed to be doing something right.

_They_ were doing something right, she corrected quickly. Because each time he pushed forward he filled her, easing the needy ache inside, and his shaft dragged against her clit each time he pulled back, and she was fast approaching the point at which coherent thought fled. Flickers of pleasure were lighting all along her nerves, and she felt the coiling tension deep inside, telling her that another intense release was imminent.

But beyond the physical she sensed something else—something she had not entirely expected. Jesse whispered in her ear as he moved, telling her how beautiful she was, and how much he wanted her—how much he adored her. It wasn't dirty talk—it went deeper than that, and she didn't quite know what to think.

There was no confusion about how she felt, though. Every thought of Finn, of retribution, was far from her mind. Everything she felt, everything she thought...it was all Jesse and her, her and Jesse. He was _inside_ her, and it was impossible to get more intimate than that. His arms tightened around her, holding her to him. His taste was on her tongue, the smell of him in her throat. He was everything to her in that moment.

He sped up slowly, as if gauging her reaction and making sure she was okay. She met his movements as he started thrusting harder, his hands shifting her hips so he could reach deeper. Her body quivered, and sounds began leaking from her mouth without her conscious control again. Delicious sensation flowed through her, a precursor of what she now knew was to come. Oh, god, she wanted it. Wanted to come undone while he was inside her—to know what that felt like.

"So beautiful," he murmured again, his voice taut, and he kissed her hard.

That was all it took—two words and the touch of his mouth. She exploded around him, pushing her hips into his, feeling her inner walls convulse and clench tightly around him. He pushed back, unrelenting, and she heard a tight groan leave his mouth as he shoved his hard length into her once, twice more, then held himself there, his entire body turning to stone for several moments as he emptied himself into her. It was the strangest, most elemental feeling to know exactly what he was doing—to feel it even as her body writhed and milked him, and to know that without the little white pill she took every morning, there was a very real possibility that this act could conceivably get her pregnant.

Not that that was in her plans anytime soon. She quivered, her body spent, and relaxed back into the mattress, feeling boneless. Jesse was on top of her still, panting into her neck, and she wrapped her arms around him. It felt good, his weight on top of her, their bodies wrapped firmly around each other. She wasn't at all sure that she wanted him to move anytime soon.

"Jesse?" Her voice was hesitant.

"Mm?" He kissed her throat and nuzzled the tender spot behind her ear, and Rachel melted.

"Is it...possible...to be addicted to something after just one experience?"

He laughed, and it was such a buoyant sound that Rachel found herself almost wanting to join him, though her question had been serious.

"You're not a sex addict, Rach," he said, and she shuddered as he moved, slipping out of her. "You're a teenage girl lucky enough to have a boyfriend who's good in bed. There's absolutely nothing wrong with wanting this." He settled on the bed next to her and drew her close. She tucked her head against his shoulder, feeling his arms winding around to hold her securely. She always did like to cuddle with him, but it was even better naked as far as she was concerned. "What's put that ridiculous notion into your head?" He paused. "Are the rumors back about Mr. Schue? Is that what it is?"

Rachel felt her cheeks heat and was glad he couldn't see it. "Maybe."

Jesse's chuckle this time was softer, and he dropped a kiss in her hair. "I'm glad the experience met with your approval, anyway. Don't worry, Rachel. You're perfectly normal; there's absolutely nothing wrong with you."

"I can't explain how it feels when you touch me like that."

"You don't have to. Some things are indescribable." His voice lowered, and Rachel tipped her head up to see that his eyes had darkened again. "Like the feeling of you wrapped around me." He swallowed—she watched his Adam's apple bob. "Sex always felt good, but it's never been that...intense before."

"Really?"

"Really." He cupped her cheek gently, lowering his head to kiss her. "You're definitely never getting rid of me now."

Warmth that had nothing to do with the sweat on her skin flowed through Rachel's body. Not that she'd ever want to get rid of him, but it was nice to know that the feeling was mutual. She touched his cheek in return, offering him a smile. "Never? Even if I said I really wanted a hot bath about now?" The sweat was beginning to dry on her skin, making her feel both chilled and sticky. She could also tell that her body would be sore tomorrow, unaccustomed to this particular kind of exertion. A soak now would help ease the inevitable aches.

"_Definitely_ not then," Jesse agreed. He sat up, bringing her with him. "Can we bring the pizza?"

Rachel had to laugh. Sometimes he was _such_ a teenage boy.

They were going to glow even more tomorrow—she had no doubt of that. _Sorry,__dad_, she thought as she followed Jesse into the bathroom. She had no intention of attempting to hide anything, no matter what her dad said about Finn. She and Jesse were happy, and there was nothing wrong with that. Why should they have to hide it?

He offered her a cold slice of pizza as she stepped into the filling tub, adjusting the temperature. She settled back against his chest, steam already swirling around them, and sighed contentedly. "Are we a cliche, Jesse?"

"Never." He kissed her damp hair, tucking strands gently behind her ear. "Even when we do the conventional, we do it in a way that's utterly our own. There's nothing—nothing—cliche about that."

"So if you took me home tomorrow and my dad was waiting for you with a shotgun?"

"Hiram likes me and he won't let Leroy get that far, even if Leroy had a desire to. Besides, can you imagine one of your two gay dads chasing me down the street with a shotgun, the other running after and telling him to stop? It might be a farce, but it's no cliche."

"What if you didn't take me home at all and we eloped?"

"Everyone we know would immediately know where we'd gone, because New York is in the cards for both of us. Your dads, my parents, and/or Shelby would catch us before we'd gone too far." There was a contemplative pause. "You know, of them all, I think Shelby might be the most upset. How's that for the opposite of a cliche?"

Rachel wasn't sure she believed that, but she said nothing. He knew Shelby better than she did, after all.

"Rachel, look. We're abnormal people in abnormal circumstances. _Nothing_ we do is ever going to be a cliche, even if we wanted it to be. I told you before to let Quinn have her prom crown and her white picket fence, but the truth is, I'm not sure you could have those things even if you wanted them. That's not what fate has in store for you. Even when we do something conventional—like attend your junior prom—it turns out entirely unconventional. You can't sit there and tell me there are any other kids from your school eating cold pizza in a hotel bathtub right now, after having the best sex of their lives, first time or no."

"Probably not," Rachel conceded.

"We're going to do other conventional things, too, in our lives," Jesse continued, and his hand moved to caress her stomach under the waterline. "But we'll always do them _our_ way. Who knows—maybe our first child will be born in a theater."

"That's highly unlikely, Jesse," Rachel said, though she took his point. He was right. People fell in love and had sex—they got married and had kids—every day. They went to high school proms, graduated from college. They sent flowers both in apology and sympathy, had fights and made up, and did a hundred million other things that she and Jesse would do, too. But that didn't make it a cliche—that made it _life_. She couldn't live her life afraid of being conventional, just as much as she couldn't live it _trying_ to be conventional. That was just something she was never going to be.

She also couldn't live her life tiptoeing around, afraid of stirring up unpleasant feelings in others.

"Finn's going to know," she said, leaning back against Jesse's arm. "He's not the brightest, but I can already tell he's going to know the minute he sees me, whether you're there or not."

Jesse shrugged. "What can he do, really? Be unpleasant? He's already done that. He doesn't deserve you, and you don't belong with him. I've no doubt he suspects since he knows you left with me and he had the gall to call your dads. It'll be your choice to confirm or deny."

"I'm not going to lie. I'm not ashamed of you, Jesse, or what we did."

His arm tightened around her, and she felt his kiss in her hair. "I'm glad to hear that," he said, "because I plan on doing it again. A lot."

"I thought you might." Rachel turned her head, nestling further into his warmth. The water felt delicious against her skin, but not as delicious as the feel of Jesse wrapped around her. She knew he was still jealous of Finn, and that was likely never going to change. But they'd get through it, because he knew she was his. He'd won—really, he'd won the moment his eyes met hers over a counter in a little music store, but neither of them were in a place to admit it at the time. Now they were.

"I'm not letting you go tonight," he said softly, breathing the words against her skin.

She shivered lightly, then turned her head and nuzzled his chin. No, she hadn't thought he would. And she was pretty okay with that. She loved when he put his hands on her, after all.

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><p><em>AN: So ends my prom fix. There's a clue in here about another oneshot I'm working on. Just saying. :-)_

_Thanks to all my sweet reviewers!_


	12. Future 2

_A/N: So to end St. Berry Week with a bang, here are (that's right) *two* new chapters. But there's a catch! They're not finished yet. You have to review with your vote for which to continue, and the winning story start will get a Part 2 over the weekend. As always, all standard disclaimers apply._

_This is my second futurefic, and it's a little angstier than the first. But not too bad; you know I'm a sucker for happy endings. ;)_

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><p><strong>The Shadows at Sundown<strong>

"Rachel isn't going to like this."

Jesse resisted the urge to roll his eyes childishly at the immaculately-dressed interior designer standing before him. He knew perfectly well that Rachel wasn't going to like this. He wasn't stupid. But right now, he honestly didn't care. He needed to see her, and Kurt Hummel was the only person he knew who could give him her address.

"I don't really give a damn what Rachel will or won't like," Jesse said, striving to remain calm. "She's been ignoring me for too long, and it needs to stop."

Kurt hesitated a moment before stepping aside and allowing Jesse to enter his office. The space was clean and sharp, almost stark in its simplicity, and Jesse was a little surprised at the calming sweep of light grey and white, with just a touch of dark, deep green thrown in here and there. He'd assumed that Kurt's tastes would run to the lush and opulent but, at least here in his trendy West Village office, the scheme was understated and discretely elegant. It was a clean room, someplace expertly manipulated to clear the mind and induce calm. Jesse liked it immensely, and he found himself sinking onto a European couch as his heart rate slowed. Kurt really knew what he was doing, he thought idly. This career choice suited him perfectly.

"So..." Kurt said, settling himself on a metal chair and crossing his legs at the knee. The note of caution in the young man's voice didn't escape Jesse, and he knew why it was there. Kurt wasn't a close friend. In fact, they hadn't seen or talked to each other in quite some time. But Jesse needed information, and Kurt was the obvious choice from whom to obtain it. He studied the designer as he pulled his thoughts together. Kurt still looked like a twelve-year-old, in his opinion. He'd gained a couple of inches since Jesse had known him in high school, but no bulk. Instead of looking like a skinny hipster or beanpole, though, he was...willowy. Almost feminine. But he was at home in his body in a way so many people weren't. Jesse had always liked that about Kurt. No matter how strange he was back home in Ohio, he was always secure in himself.

And New York was the perfect place for the delicately-built, artistically-inclined person Kurt had always been. He could see that in an instant. The slight air of worry that had always accompanied Kurt was now gone, replaced with calm assurance. No longer a teenager, Kurt was even more at home in and with himself, and Jesse was genuinely glad to see that. So many of his colleagues on the West End stage had reminded him of Kurt, and to see the younger man looking so comfortable made him happy.

Okay, not completely happy, he had to admit. Because he wasn't here to see Kurt. Kurt was just a stepping stone on his way to Rachel.

"Look," Jesse said, tugging a hand through his hair. It was a nervous habit he'd picked up during college, and he hadn't been able to quit. Not that it mattered. When he ran a hand through his curls, he could feel the eyes of every woman—and some men—gravitate toward him. It amused him greatly, and he had to admit that knowing he was desirable boosted his ego like nothing else. "I don't know how involved you are in her life. But you can't both live in the same city and not know something about each other. I don't know where she lives, and I'm not going to stand outside the stage door at her theater like some idiot fan. That's not me."

"She's my best girlfriend," Kurt admitted. "We talk every day. But that doesn't mean I'm going to give you her address. If she wanted to see you, she'd say so."

"I told you—I don't care what she thinks she wants." Jesse forced the words out through gritted teeth. He'd known that getting Kurt to help him would be difficult, but he hadn't realized how bruising to his pride it would be. He hated asking for help—even more, he hated tipping his hand and showing his true face to people. And that was what he suspected it would take to convince Kurt. "She needs to hear what I have to say. I tried calling her, but she never picked up or returned my messages, and then she changed her number."

"She was going through some...stuff," Kurt said, his expression guarded. "She didn't want to talk to you."

"Yeah, I got that." Jesse made a face. "But like I said, I don't care anymore. Look, I gave her time, okay? I just finished a year-long tour through Europe, and I did it for her. I _hate_ touring. The pay and contracts are awful, and there's no such thing as a break. I took the job to keep me from coming here; I did it to give her time. Now she's had enough, and I need to talk to her."

"Since when do you get to decide how much time is 'enough' for someone else?" Kurt laced his hands together and placed them on his knee. "Have you ever thought that she might not want to talk to you at all?"

"Oh, sure," Jesse said easily. "I'm positive she believes she never wants to see me or speak to me again. But like I said, I don't care."

"You know, you're not really giving me a lot of incentive here to help you."

Jesse stood, crossing to the back wall where a gallery of Kurt's work was displayed. The photographs of polished, elegant rooms meant nothing to him, but he needed some space to think and find his next words. He _needed_ to see Rachel. Not seeing her again just wasn't an option.

After McKinley's disastrous loss at Nationals her junior year, Jesse left Ohio for the second time and had not looked back. Rachel had hurt him deeply by kissing Finn Hudson on stage, but what hurt worse was her refusal to talk to him about it afterward. It was like he'd just...stopped existing in her world. After everything they'd been to each other, that stung. Wounded, Jesse had gone on a three-day bender, after which he decided never to have anything to do with the spoiled little high school girl ever again.

To that end, with his parents' help, he moved to London. The West End had truthfully never called to him like Broadway, but he knew Rachel's heart was set on New York and he honestly didn't think the city was big enough for the both of them. Not like this. So he left.

But Rachel never left his thoughts, and he found he couldn't stay away. He followed her public MySpace page, since there was no way she'd ever re-friend him on Facebook. Through the Internet, he learned that she'd tried dating Finn again for a while, but it hadn't lasted. And during her senior year, he'd attended McKinley's Sectionals and Regionals competitions, always hiding himself unobtrusively in the crowd. He was there at Nationals again, in the audience, as Hudson flubbed a line and misstepped during the choreography, costing his school a national title for the second year in a row.

Jesse's emotions during that performance were mixed. He felt sorry for Rachel, because he knew how hard she had worked and how badly she wanted that trophy. But he couldn't help a righteous sort of happiness from spreading through his body, too. Maybe now she'd realize what had been so obvious to him from the beginning. Rachel didn't belong with that Neanderthal; she never had. She belonged with someone who could match her talent, and Hudson wasn't that man. Jesse was.

Though he doubted he'd ever get the chance to prove it to her.

That chance had come just a few short years later. A Juilliard alum working with him at the Lyric Theatre in London invited Jesse home with him for a Christmas party. Rachel wasn't even on his mind when he accepted, accompanying his castmate back to the States. New York was a big city. He knew Rachel was there, trying her luck on the stage, but he never expected to run into her.

When Jesse saw her at the Juilliard alumni party, she took his breath away.

Five years had turned Rachel Berry from a cute little girl with a lot of promise into a stunning young woman. She was still small, but she had an electric presence that drew every eye in the room and held it. Her dark hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall, and her eyes gleamed with life and excitement. She was dressed flawlessly, the schoolgirl skirts replaced with a festive red dress, but Jesse noticed instantly that she still wore that tiny gold star necklace he remembered so well. A smile had tugged relentlessly at the corners of his mouth. Some things never changed.

When her eyes met his across the crowded room, Jesse felt again what it was like to fall under her spell. She had a way of looking at him as if nothing else in the world existed, and Jesse had forgotten just how heady that feeling was. Having Rachel's eyes on him was like a shot of adrenaline right to his heart.

He slept with her that night.

Together in his hotel room, they'd given in to years of pent-up frustrations and longing, losing and finding themselves in each other over and over again. The night turned into a full weekend, Friday through Sunday, in which they barely left the bed. Between naps and the most intense sexual encounters of Jesse's life, they spoke at length about the past. Rachel apologized profusely for what she'd done her junior year, and Jesse apologized yet again for what he'd done the year before. Now that he knew how it felt to be left, he was even more remorseful about the egging incident. They'd laughed it off, exchanged phone numbers, and vowed to keep in touch. Jesse swore he'd even seen the glimmer of tears in Rachel's eyes when he had to return to London.

And for a few short weeks, everything had seemed fine. They talked every day, managing the time difference with as much grace as possible. They even began talking about the possibility of another meeting. Rachel was working odd jobs to supplement her income as she took small parts in off-Broadway productions. Her big break hadn't happened yet, but Jesse was sure it would. She was only twenty-two. Sometimes these things took time. He was just starting to make a name for himself in London, and he had two years on her.

But then she stopped returning his calls. Jesse hadn't known what to think. Part of him wanted very much to rush back to New York and demand to know what was wrong. But the bigger part—including his pride—wouldn't quite let him. Instead, he accepted the role of Link Larkin in a European tour of Hairspray, though he hated touring. The work would keep him occupied while he gave Rachel a chance to work through whatever was bothering her.

Except she never ended up contacting him, and now that he had a great deal of free time on his hands, Jesse aimed to do something about it. A year was too long to wait. Rachel belonged with him, and he wasn't going to take no for an answer this time.

"What do you want me to say?" he said finally, turning to look at Kurt. "She belongs with me. I know it, and I believe that deep down she does, too. We've wasted a lot of time playing childish games, and I'm not going to do it anymore. She needs to hear me out, Kurt, and she won't do that unless you help me."

Kurt eyed him speculatively. "You just want to talk to her?"

"For now." Jesse made a face. "Why? Did you expect me to kidnap her? Keep her captive unless she agreed to be mine?"

"Sarcasm will get you nowhere with me, you know." Kurt rose and went to his desk, jotting down something on a piece of paper. He paused and looked at Jesse. "I'm not going to give you her home address. She'd murder me if I ever did that."

Jesse waited. A concession was coming, and he wanted to know just what he'd managed to convince Kurt to give him, if not Rachel's address.

"You're right that she doesn't want to see you." Kurt hesitated, playing with the paper in his hands. "Look, she's my best friend, but that doesn't necessarily mean I agree with everything she does. I think you have a right to know why she stopped talking to you. I understand why she did it, but I don't agree."

"You're not making any sense," Jesse said carefully. He didn't want to offend Kurt when it seemed likely that the younger man was taking his side, but he really didn't understand what was going on. So Rachel had a reason for ignoring him? Well, he needed to know what it was.

"I know," Kurt said, "and I'm sorry for that. I wish I could tell you everything, but it's not my place to do that." He held out the paper, and Jesse took it. "Go to this address a little before six o'clock tonight. I can't tell you anything more."

"Thank you." Jesse checked the address. It was in Tribeca; he knew that much.

"Jesse, I can't promise that you'll like what you find, or that this will end well."

He clenched his jaw. "I know that." He did, too. There was no telling what went on in Rachel Berry's head. Though they were so much alike, she was still such a foreign creature to him. Her thoughts and feelings were never what he expected. And there was also no way to know what had happened to her during their year apart. But he needed to be able to talk with her, to tell her how he felt. Only then would he truly be able to move on, if that was what she wanted him to do. "But I have to do this." He paused. "Thank you."

"I'll no doubt hear Rachel's side of things in vivid detail," Kurt said. "But...let me know how it goes, okay?"

Jesse blinked. "Why do you care?"

"I saw her after you hooked up again last year. She was happier than I've ever seen her before. _Ever_. Even her first role on Broadway couldn't compare." He paused. "I know you both did some horrible things to each other in the past, and that's really none of my business. I'd love to see her look like that again, though, Jesse. I really would."

Jesse smiled. It was a small smile, but genuine. He held his hand out for Kurt to shake. "She's lucky to have a friend like you."

"Oh, I know," Kurt said with a grin. "Do me a favor? Don't tell her I sent you."

* * *

><p>Three hours later, Jesse was standing outside a tall, nondescript brick building. The early evening was warm—summer in the city hadn't taken full effect yet, and the weather was soft without being muggy or uncomfortably hot. Jesse leaned against a small sidewalk tree, looking up at the building. Kurt hadn't given him an apartment or suite number, and he had no real idea what to do next. The upper floors of the building were no doubt apartments, but Kurt had said he wasn't going to give Jesse Rachel's address so he doubted Rachel lived here. A small coffee shop resided on the main floor, but Jesse doubted Kurt had meant for him to go in there and wait. Occasionally an adult would descend the stairs to the lower level, returning soon with a baby or young child. There was likely some sort of daycare operating out of the building.<p>

Jesse stood outside, torn. He didn't know if he should call Kurt and demand more information—information he doubted Kurt would give him, anyway. Instead, he ducked quickly into the coffee shop. There were plenty of people spread around the room, many reading books or absorbed in their laptops, but none of them were Rachel Berry. Jesse even went so far as to inquire at the counter, but the barista did not know her by name and couldn't say for sure whether she was a regular customer from Jesse's description.

Anxious irritation swept through Jesse as he left the coffee shop and returned to his spot on the street. It was nearing six o'clock now, and he didn't know if he'd missed whatever Kurt had expected him to find here. Did Rachel have a friend in the building? Maybe Kurt had guessed wrong and she wasn't going to be here after all. Or maybe he was a consummate actor and had sent Jesse on a wild goose chase around town. Jesse highly doubted it, but he supposed it was always a possibility.

The sound of the lower-level door closing reached Jesse's ears, but he dismissed it immediately. Kurt had insinuated that Rachel no longer needed to work odd jobs to pay for necessities, and he couldn't really picture his dark-haired diva working in a daycare anyway. She didn't have the temperament for it.

So intent on his search, Jesse almost didn't recognize Rachel when he saw her. She walked up the steps from the lower level of the building, her sleek hair gleaming in the evening sunlight. She was wearing short denim shorts that showed off the fine lines of her beautiful legs, and a buttery yellow peasant top. But it was her accessory that caught Jesse's attention and held it. Rachel was wearing a plum-colored fabric sling across her chest, in which the form of a sleeping baby was very clearly visible.

Numbness filled Jesse for a long moment, followed by shock. The sight of Rachel standing before him was enough of a jolt to his system, but to see her holding an infant...Jesse didn't know what to think, what to feel. He frantically began trying to count backward in his head, but his brain wouldn't cooperate. How long had it been since their hotel tryst, exactly? How long did it take for women to gestate, and how old was that baby? Suspicion hit him like a bucket of ice water, and he narrowed his eyes.

Rachel hadn't noticed him standing unobtrusively under the small tree, and she turned away, heading down the sidewalk. Without thinking much about it, he followed her. The golden New York evening was lengthening, the light doing delicious things to the streets and the old buildings. It was the time of day Jesse loved best, in one of his favorite cities in the world, but he had eyes for none of it. All he could do was follow behind Rachel as she walked leisurely along the streets, careful to keep her always in sight even through the crowds of New Yorkers.

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><p><em>AN: Remember, to see a continuation, you have to review and vote for which of these two story starts deserves a second part!_


	13. Future 2 Part 2

_Guys! Since when do I have to find and correct my own glaring mistakes? Jeez, why didn't anyone mention to me that it couldn't possibly be summer when Jesse comes back, if the baby was conceived around Christmas and it's now a year later? Lol, these are the kinds of stupid things I do all the time and you're usually so good about correcting me. :-) Seriously, you'll never make me mad by pointing out my awful mistakes, because I DO make them! I'll go back and fix the first chapter later; I thought you'd appreciate the second chapter more than the correction right now._

_Okay, enough mock-scolding, lol. Everyone is reading androgenius' amazing Jon/Lea fic "We Fall Like This, With Both Hands" right? I usually don't go for RPF, but the angsty goodness and stellar writing absolutely has me hooked on this one! Sniffle that Original Groffette has stopped "A Tale of Two Starlets," but I'm consoling myself with androgenius' breathtaking story and the promise that Bruised Smile is still around, all evidence to the contrary._

* * *

><p><strong>The Shadows at Sundown (Part 2)<strong>

Eight blocks passed, then twelve. Then fifteen. Jesse didn't bother counting, too intent on his purpose. He didn't really know why he was following her or what he might do when she finally noticed him, but he was adamant that she wasn't going to just walk away from him. Not this time. Especially not after he'd caught a glimpse of what she was holding.

That baby was his—he had no doubt of it. The first block or two he'd had time to question, but in the end he knew without asking. Nine months from conception to birth, then a few more...he had no idea how old it might be, but it looked young. If it was conceived just before Christmas, that meant it was born sometime around late September. Now, just after Thanksgiving, that would mean that the baby was, what, two months old? Somewhere around that? He narrowed the distance between them, walking briskly along the crowded pavement. Rachel wasn't strolling exactly, but she wasn't going to break any speed records either, and it was easy to keep her in sight.

But what was he going to do now? Jesse felt distinctly stalker-ish, and he hated it. The plan had been to surprise her at the address Kurt had given him. The public atmosphere gave him the edge; she wouldn't be able to ream him out _quite_ so horrifically if she thought he'd done something to warrant her silence. But the shock of seeing her again—not to mention how—had rendered him incapable of reacting in that crucial moment and now it was gone. He had to formulate a new plan, and quickly.

Rachel deviated from her course suddenly, jerking Jesse's attention back to the present. She veered into a little natural grocery store and Jesse paused, waiting outside for her to re-emerge. A store like that was too small—she would see him in an instant if he followed her in, and he wasn't ready for that yet. Not without a plan.

Jesse honestly wasn't sure how he felt about the giant wrench in his plans that Rachel was currently holding.

No, he corrected himself, that wasn't true at all. He knew how he felt. That baby was his, and he was furious—absolutely livid—at Rachel for hiding something like this from him. Kurt's words—words he had dismissed during their talk because they didn't seem important at the time—now echoed in his head mockingly. _"I think you have a right to know why she stopped talking to you. I understand why she did it, but I don't agree." _Jesse snorted under his breath. He was going to murder that girlish little man when he saw him next. So maybe it wasn't Kurt Hummel's place to tell him what Rachel was hiding, but _someone_ should have told him. If Rachel refused, someone else damn well should have told him.

He wasn't a deadbeat—quite the opposite, in fact. There was absolutely no reason for her to have kept something this vitally important from him. They had a bond now that no one could break—together they'd created something beautiful, something new and amazing. But Rachel seemed dead-set on trying to break that bond, or deny it entirely. What he didn't understand was why. That last weekend they'd spent together almost a year ago was absolutely magic. The best of his life he truly believed, and Rachel certainly hadn't been complaining at the time. So why—why had she felt compelled to shun him once again, this time much more seriously?

Rachel slipped out of the store, a sack of groceries dangling from one hand and her other arm resting gently on the little bulk of the baby in its sling. She looked...happy, he thought, shifting slightly away from the door though she wasn't looking in his direction. She seemed used to this—to walking around the city laden with the sling and a bag. An old woman stopped her to peer into the sling and smile, and Rachel smiled back. Her mouth moved and Jesse watched with growing jealousy as the old woman's wrinkly hand reached into the sling to touch the baby—his baby, which he'd never touched or even really seen yet. He glared at the stranger as she thanked Rachel. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair.

Six blocks further on, they paused in front of a building. Jesse gazed up at it as Rachel shifted her bag of groceries to her other hand and reached out to punch a security code into the interface by the door. The building looked nice enough—old but well kept—but there was no doorman. His eyes narrowed again. It was clear that Rachel lived here, and he didn't particularly care for the idea. If she was getting notice on Broadway and she had a vulnerable child, she needed to be in a building with a doorman. Security codes were all well and good, but they weren't the same as an actual person monitoring the comings and goings of the building.

He watched for a moment, liking this less and less. As Rachel juggled her bag and the security code while keeping the baby from being pressed against the wall, she wasn't even paying attention to the fact that a man—thank God it was only himself, Jesse thought—was watching her, and close enough that he could catch the door after she went through it but before it locked again.

That was it. He'd seen enough. Jesse took two steps forward and grabbed the handle of the grocery bag, snatching it before her reflexes could take over and renew her grasp. "Need a hand?"

She whirled, her lovely dark eyes wide and her hands raised to shield the baby—at least _that_ reflex was working, Jesse thought, not very kindly. For a moment her face was completely open to him and he watched, in awe of the sheer raw power of her presence once again, as emotions flickered quickly across her beautiful features. Anger and warning first, then the barest flash of something else as she recognized him. "You," she said, the word a breathy exhalation. Just that quickly her guard came up, wariness replacing whatever else had been visible on her face.

"Me," Jesse acknowledged. "And I suggest we take this conversation somewhere more private. Unless you enjoy giving your fellow New Yorkers a free show?"

She scowled, and for a moment she looked exactly as she had when Jesse first met her—a short-tempered little high school drama queen, lovely in her own way, but so young and untrained. Fire snapped in her dark eyes. "You're not coming upstairs with me."

"In which case I'm staying right here, and following you when you leave again. You've been ignoring me for a fucking year, Rachel, and I'm not putting up with it anymore." Jesse crossed his arms over his chest, standing his ground. Giving Rachel ultimatums rarely worked. She was unpredictable enough to throw them back in his face—in anyone's face—but he was too angry at this point to care. She was acting like a child, and he was done playing around. This was far too serious to let it continue any longer.

"I'll call the cops—tell them you're stalking me."

It was a valid threat, but Jesse wasn't concerned. The way she said the words told him everything he needed to know. She wasn't going to call the police. Not on him. "No, you won't," he said confidently. "Open the door, Rachel. This conversation is long past due, and you know it."

She swallowed, her eyes flicking back and forth across his face as if judging his intent, looking to see if she still had a way out of this confrontation. Her arms closed around the baby in the sling, and Jesse couldn't help but drop his gaze, watching as she cradled the sling and the baby inside it.

"That's mine," he couldn't stop himself from saying. It wasn't wise, but the words just slipped out.

"She's mine," Rachel snapped

She. The baby he had barely seen—just a lump in the plum-colored sling—was a girl. Jesse didn't hear—didn't care about—the proprietary anger in Rachel's voice. It wasn't an "it" anymore—it was a she. A daughter. The word sounded foreign—something other people had, but not him. He'd never _let_ himself consider the possibility of having kids. Hell, getting Rachel back had seemed like a ridiculously unattainable goal for so very long, let alone a child.

"Let me in, Rachel." He was good at acting firm, but he didn't entirely recognize his own voice as he spoke. The words were low and hard—not a voice he'd want to cross. He was talking about more than just the apartment building, and he was pretty sure she knew it, too.

"And if I don't?" She tugged the fabric of the sling up further as if attempting to hide what it held. Jesse couldn't really see the baby anyway so it hardly mattered, but the gesture made him angrier.

"Let me in," he said again. "Now. I thought we were through playing games the last time we met. Clearly you didn't agree, but I'm not playing anymore."

Rachel didn't bite her lip, but she looked just about as unsure as he'd ever seen her. Jesse waited for a brace of heartbeats, not knowing what else he could possibly say. Threatening wouldn't win him any points here, no matter how much he wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her. This had to be done on her terms or not at all. No matter how much he felt she was in the wrong, she was holding all the aces. He had absolutely nothing she wanted, and she now had two things he wanted very much indeed. So much, in fact, that he was willing to play dirty. In desperation, he tried the one thing he had promised not to.

"Kurt told me where to find you. He said he didn't agree with your decision to shut me out."

Rachel rolled her eyes, and it was such a familiar gesture—so _known—_that it made Jesse's heart hurt. For the time it took to blink, things almost felt normal between them. "I'm well aware of Kurt's thoughts on the matter."

"You should listen to him, then."

Rachel snorted. "There are many topics on which I accept Kurt Hummel's word as gospel, Jesse, but relationships aren't one of them. He hasn't had a stable one since he left Blaine in Ohio after high school."

Jesse didn't know who this Blaine character was, but neither did he care. His heart almost stopped when he heard her say his name. Such a simple thing and so ridiculous to get sentimental about, but he couldn't help it. "And have you?" he challenged. "Had a stable relationship since high school?"

Rachel dropped her eyes. "You know the answer to that already."

Yes, he did, and the answer was no. At first, when she started ignoring him, he'd been afraid that she had found someone else. But now he knew the truth. No one had replaced him—not unless you counted the little person currently strapped across her torso.

"Upstairs, Rachel." His voice was softer now, echoing the weariness he felt. He was tired of fighting—tired of this being so hard. Why did everything with Rachel have to be a struggle? That one weekend last year had been perfect. Magic. Why couldn't they get back there—back to a place where things were easy between them?

"No," Rachel said, though she sounded hesitant—scared, even, though that was an emotion he never thought to peg on Rachel Berry. "If you come upstairs, you won't leave."

"That's the general idea," Jesse agreed. "Come on, sweetheart. I'm done playing around."

Her arms tightened on the baby in the plum-colored sling, but the nervous gesture didn't deter him because she nodded. She actually nodded, and she quickly keyed in her code without really looking. Jesse heard the click of the door unlocking and he grabbed it, holding it open and letting her pass through. Her shoulder brushed against his arm, and even that miniscule touch burned along his body as if it were skin on skin. A shiver ran down his spine, though he did his best to hide it. There was no explanation as to why she affected him so deeply, or why he was wholly unable to let her go. When he went to California, he couldn't get her out of his head. When she rejected him a year later, he ran to London but once again she was always on his mind. This time was even worse, though. Their reconciliation had been so vividly beautiful, so perfect, and it had reawakened for him all the infinite possibilities that a life with her held. While part of him railed against the unfairness of it all—that happiness should be so difficult, and that he only seemed capable of finding it with the most infuriating woman he'd ever met—another part of him didn't care. All he wanted was Rachel.

He followed her through the small lobby and into an elevator without a word, almost stepping on her heels in his drive not to let her get away. Though she seemed to have capitulated for the moment—they were inside, after all—he made no assumptions that her acquiescence to his presence would remain. Her words in the doorway gave him hope, though. Whether she welcomed it or not, she at least realized his intent. He wasn't giving her any more time to run. This game ended here and now. Either she was going to let him back into her life, or they were going to go their own ways permanently.

Except that the baby currently sleeping in the plum-colored sling made the second choice more than a little problematic. There was no way he was walking away from his daughter and never looking back. Rachel was going to have to accept that, whether she wanted to or not.

They reached the fifth floor without incident and Rachel produced a set of keys from her pocket, unlocking a door and opening it wide. Jesse followed her in, still holding the bag of groceries, and locked the door behind them.

"You can put that in the kitchen," Rachel said, motioning vaguely in the right direction.

Jesse ignored her, dropping the bag right where he was and striding over to her smaller form. "I want to see her."

Rachel's arms slid around the purple sling. "You saw her already."

"I saw a baby-sized lump inside that stupid sling. Let me see her."

"Jesse, I don't know if that's such a good - " Her protest died on her lips as Jesse, through waiting, slipped his hands inside the fabric sling. He fully expected Rachel to argue, but she was pale and perhaps too anxious to complain as his hands encountered soft, warm fabric and he closed them carefully around the heavy little body, lifting it carefully free.

Jesse had held babies before—the children of friends and family members—but he hadn't expected the feeling to be quite so different when he held his own. She was small, like her mother, and she fit easily in one of his arms, cradled securely. She watched him curiously from dark blue eyes, her expression serious but unafraid, and the thin, dark wisps of her hair showed a definite propensity to curl. Perfect porcelain skin flowed under his fingertip when he reached out to trace her cheek, smooth and soft and unblemished.

"My god," he said softly, though that had never been a common phrase from his mouth. She was wearing a little mint-green onesie—very gender-neutral, and he fully blamed Kurt for that. "Rachel, how could you?"

She seemed to know exactly what he was talking about, and her aggrieved sigh was full of irritation. "Don't start with me, Jesse. I've had a long day and I'm really not thrilled about all of this, in case you were wondering. I'm going to kill Kurt the next time I see him."

"Not if I beat you to it," Jesse murmured, unable to tear his eyes away from what he was holding. "What's her name?"

Rachel shifted away, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her slip the sling over her shoulder. "You're going to let the milk spoil."

"Since when do you drink milk that spoils?" Jesse sank slowly down onto the little couch—a loveseat, really—behind him. "Tell me her name." He heard the crinkle of the paper grocery bag as Rachel picked it up off the floor.

"Judy Grace," Rachel said after a moment. Jesse listened to the sound of her putting away groceries with half an ear. The rest of his attention was focused on the child in his arms. She was perfect—absolutely perfect. Every little wiggle or wave of her arm was magnificent—as if she were the first baby to ever do such a thing. Jesse was riveted. He couldn't keep his eyes off her. "And I drink regular milk because I need to watch my calcium levels. They never really went back to normal after the pregnancy—not that it's any of your business."

"Anything that concerns you is my business," Jesse said, but the words lacked his earlier heat. He didn't know if it was possible to be angry while holding something so beautiful, so precious. "You and Gracie."

The rustling noises from the kitchen abruptly stopped. "What did you say?"

"I said that anything that concerns you and Gracie is my business," Jesse repeated, still staring at the baby in his arms.

"How did you know to call her that?" Rachel demanded suspiciously. "Did Kurt tell you?"

"Kurt didn't tell me anything. She looks like a Gracie. No doubt you named her after Garland, but Judy is far too grown-up a name for something this small." He dropped his head, breathing in the clean smell of milk and baby powder. His daughter's fat little hand poked at his face before she found a curl of his hair and latched on, pulling hard. "Even if she has a wrestler's grip," he added wryly, carefully trying to extract himself from her clutches. As he removed his hair from her grasping fingers, she abruptly started to cry.

Instantly Rachel was at his side, and she had the baby in her arms again before Jesse could tell her not to. "What did you do to her?" she demanded, resting the crying baby against her shoulder and rubbing the tiny back gently.

"She pulled my hair!"

"Babies do that. What was your hair doing where she could get it?" Rachel promptly turned her back without waiting for an answer, and Jesse felt a little nonplussed as she crooned softly to her daughter, soothing the wails. "Are you hungry?" she asked in a cooing little voice that left Jesse with no question who she was talking to. "Your bottle is all ready."

"You bottle feed her?" Jesse asked, a little surprised.

"Don't start, I said. It's my body and my choice, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with formula."

Jesse swallowed his natural inclination to argue, telling himself firmly to pick his battles. This wasn't the place to be expending his energy. Instead he roamed the tiny living room, staring at everything. Rachel lived simply but well, it looked like. The few pieces of furniture were well-made, with nice clean lines—definitely not thrift-store finds. The kitchen was really a nook separated from the living room by a breakfast bar, but this was New York. People didn't come to the city because they wanted thousands of square feet of living space. Out of curiosity, Jesse opened a pink file folder on the little computer desk in the corner of the room.

It was all of Gracie's paperwork. Her vaccination schedule, her little footprints from the hospital, even her birth—

Wait. Jesse grabbed the official-looking piece of paper, squinting at the tiny type. Yes, this was her birth certificate. And there, right there—

"You gave her my name," he said wonderingly.

"What?" Rachel rounded the corner from the kitchen, Gracie in one arm, bottle in the other hand, and a rag tossed over her shoulder.

"My name," Jesse repeated, holding up the birth certificate. "Judy Grace St. James. Not Judy Grace Berry."

"Oh. That."

"Yes _that_." Jesse stared at the form again, and only then did he notice something that further floored him. "And I'm listed as the father."

"Why wouldn't you be?" Rachel sounded genuinely confused. "You're her father. Why would I lie to the hospital and say you weren't?"

"I don't know," Jesse said, letting the paper drop back to the desk. "I don't know why you do anything, because you won't talk to me. It was news to me that I was a father. How the hell should I know what you might or might not tell the hospital, when you couldn't even be bothered to tell me?"

Rachel scowled furiously. "Don't try to play the victim here, Jesse; it doesn't become you. I saved your ass, and you damn well know it! I don't expect you to thank me. But I do expect you to respect my decision."

"Saved me? You think you _saved_ me?" Jesse could only stare. "You're kidding, right?"

"Of course not." Rachel frowned. "Look, I get it. This wasn't what either of us planned. It's fine. I've made my peace with how things are going to be. But you need to stop calling and showing up here. It just makes everything that much harder."

Jesse squinted at her. What was she going on about now? _What_ was harder when he showed up, other than ignoring him? And what did she think she'd saved him from? "Sit down," he said, suiting action to words and making room for her next to him on the loveseat, "and explain yourself, please. Pretend I'm your old boyfriend, Hudson, and use small words."

Rachel ignored the space on the loveseat and instead lowered herself carefully into the rocking chair by the window. They were only on the fifth floor and she didn't have much of a view, but it was a street-facing window, at least. In the gathering darkness Jesse could see the glow of streetlights below them and the shadowy figures passing back and forth between spots of sodium streetlamp glare. Gracie's little hands were grabbing at the bottle as she fed, though she wasn't actually holding it. Jesse wondered when she would be able to do something like that. Right now she reminded him of a little kneading kitten the way her hands played over the plastic bottle.

"There's no reason to mock Finn," Rachel said, leveling Jesse with her best scolding look. "He stayed in Ohio to take over Burt Hummel's auto shop, since Kurt sure as hell wasn't going to do it. I told you that the last time we met."

"If by 'the last time we met' you mean the weekend we spent horizontal in my hotel room, I honestly wasn't paying attention to anything but you. You could have told me he'd been accepted at NASA for all the impact it made." He understood what she wasn't saying, though. He didn't need to make fun of Hudson, because his old rival posed absolutely no threat anymore. Both Rachel and Jesse had moved on with their lives, but he was back in the same place where they had all first met. Rachel might visit from time to time—as far as Jesse knew, her fathers still lived in Lima—but that wasn't her world anymore. She had grown up and left Finn behind.

Rachel made a face at his last comment, though she said nothing. She'd never liked when the rare crude phrase left his mouth, but Jesse wasn't in the least penitent. It was undeniably true that they'd spent that glorious weekend pretty much attached at the hip—literally—and mostly horizontal, intriguing positions notwithstanding. If she wanted to pretend otherwise, she currently had a baby in her arms to remind her of the truth of his statement.

Which reminded him. "I don't understand," he said. "I know where babies come from, but we used condoms." He paused. "A _lot_ of condoms."

"Well, one of them didn't work." Rachel shrugged lightly. "It's pointless to ask questions like that, Jesse. This is my reality. It's the choice I made, and I'm happy with it."

"No, you're not." Jesse knew he was treading on dangerous ground here. He didn't actually know whether she was happy or not, and he was terrified that she'd been telling the truth. "Maybe you're content, but you're not happy."

Fire snapped in her dark eyes again, and Jesse could only marvel at how furiously angry her face could be while her body remained utterly relaxed, gentle and soft as she held their daughter. "I've heard my share of misogynistic comments in my life, but that takes the cake. How dare you? You think I can't be happy without a man in my life?"

"That's not it," Jesse said, feeling a little more confident now. "If you wanted a man, you would have found one by now. It's me you're not happy without; don't try to deny it. I know. I feel the same way."

The angry retort died on Rachel's lips, and he saw an uncertain sadness flicker across her features. "You can't say things like that to me," she said softly. "Not anymore."

"Why?" he demanded, feeling the frustration begin to return. "Because we're parents now?"

"_I'm_ a parent," she shot back. "You're free to do what you please, Jesse. I've given you that—why can't you just take it and be grateful?"

And suddenly they were right back where they'd started, Jesse thought. Frustration bubbled in his gut and feathered up into his chest. She kept going on about something she'd given him, but he didn't understand any of it. Why hadn't she called him? Why couldn't she have had the decency to let him know they were having a baby? She certainly was acting like she didn't want him around, but that hadn't been his impression of the weekend they spent together or the few following weeks when they spoke nearly every day—long conversations about absolutely everything. Even now there were flickers of warmth, of uncertainty, behind her showface and he wasn't going to give up on this until he understood exactly why she had done what she did. Rachel was deeply inscrutable, but he aimed to try.

"Rachel, please," he said. "Start at the beginning. Why didn't you call me when you suspected—or when you knew, at the very least?"

"Do I really have to spell it out for you?"

"Clearly you do," he snapped, "because I don't understand you at all!"

She rolled her eyes and shifted in her chair, moving Gracie to the rag on her shoulder and gently rubbing and patting her back. "I told you already—I get it. We're young, and we both have intensely important careers we need to worry about. A baby was never in the plans, especially not right now. I understand that. It was sheer luck that I was offered a part in a new musical where it didn't matter that I was pregnant. Otherwise, I honestly don't know what I would have done. I suspect my choice might have been different."

Jesse knew what she was talking about, and he didn't blame her. He hadn't even thought about what being pregnant might have done to her career. But she was clearly doing just fine financially, so everything must have worked out. "What sort of part was that?" he asked. Though he'd followed her career almost religiously up until their reunion last year, he'd forbidden himself from checking on her since then. It would have been too hard to read about things vicariously, unable to hear it directly from her lips.

Rachel laughed, and there was actually a little warmth to it. "What sort of part do you think? A pregnant girl. I currently play a young WWII widow who finds out she's pregnant with her dead husband's child. It's been a hugely challenging role, and a gift in more ways than one. My director was amazingly accepting when I talked to him, and I just wore less and less padding on stage as the pregnancy progressed."

Jesse chuckled. "How did you possibly get so lucky?"

"I've been lucky about a lot of things." She smiled and pulled Gracie off her shoulder, rubbing her nose softly in the baby's curly wisps of hair. "I've never been much of a believer in fate—I believe in hard work instead—but...I don't know. It's like the universe aligned, every piece falling into place so that I could make this work. It was like I was meant to have her."

Something inside Jesse twisted at Rachel's happy words. She felt like things had fallen into place so _she_ could have Gracie. Not them. The ache of jealousy—and jealousy of what, Jesse wondered—was real and intense, and he narrowed his eyes. "So you deliberately shut me out. I still want to know why."

"I thought I already explained that." Rachel stood and put the baby carefully in a playpen set up in the little living room. Gracie rubbed an eye with a jerky little motion, her mouth moving slightly. Jesse had never seen her do that before, but he instantly knew she was falling asleep.

"You explained nothing," he said tightly. His patience for this game was running very low. "That is my child, right there. You gave her my last name. I'm listed on her birth certificate. Yet you didn't think this rated at least a phone call?"

"I did it for you!" Rachel snapped finally, whirling on him. "Don't you get it? We weren't prepared for this! She was never part of the plan. So when I made the choice that I was going to go through with it—that I wanted to keep her—I knew that choice meant letting go of you. It wasn't fair to expect you to participate when this wasn't what you signed up for that weekend. It was a beautiful few days, Jesse, but that doesn't mean either of us was ready to jump right into being a family. This is the choice I made, and I wasn't about to force you to comply. You're free to focus on your career with nothing tying you down."

Jesse St. James could only stare at the furious woman before him. Rachel was always a fetching creature, but now she was absolutely magnificent. Color rose in her cheeks just as it did when she was turned on, and she looked so...so _alive_. He ached to touch her, even just a fingertip, but he feared her reaction.

"Look around—Gracie and me, we're not hurting. I'm making good money, I trust her daycare, and there's a co-op babysitting service for the kids of performers and stagehands that she goes to at night while I'm on stage. We're doing just fine."

Finally it was starting to sink in. Jesse was slowly starting to get what Rachel had been trying to tell him all along. She'd kept this news from him because she didn't want him to feel responsible or tied down. She was doing this on her own because she thought it was best for them all—including him. She hadn't done it out of spite or negligence. She'd done it because she cared.

The magnitude of that sacrifice took his breath away. No matter how incorrect her assumptions were regarding what he wanted, she had still acted out of a willingness to put his needs before her own. She had given him his freedom—just as she said.

Except that was the last thing he wanted. He wanted _Rachel_. However she came, he wanted her.

"Come here," he said softly, and he held out a hand.

"No." She clasped her hands in front of her. "We're doing just fine without you, Jesse."

"You might be doing fine financially, but that's not the only way to survive." Jesse rose and stepped toward her. She took an automatic step back, but the living room was small and she found herself backed up against the soft side of the playpen.

"Jesse, don't," she said, but her voice faltered.

"Don't what?" He reached out slowly, grazing the side of her arm with his fingertips. "What are you so afraid of?"

Her body trembled at the contact; he could feel her straining not to bolt, though he wasn't holding her in place. If she wanted to swerve to the side, nothing was stopping her. "I'm not afraid."

"Yes, you are." Of that, Jesse was certain. She'd avoided him for too long for this not to be at least partially about fear. "You did this for me," he said, his voice low and confident, "but you also did it for you. You're afraid of rejection, but you're also afraid that I might actually want this."

"You don't know anything."

"Only because you won't tell me." He shifted closer, only inches separating their bodies now. Her chest moved quickly with her soft, frightened breaths and he had a hard time keeping his eyes off it. "No more hiding, Rachel. No more running."

"I didn't run!" Rachel protested. "I was always right here."

"But you shut me out, and it amounts to the same thing." Carefully, very aware that one wrong move could shatter the crystalline shards of the moment, Jesse reached out and closed his hands lightly around her waist.

She felt just like she always had—slender and firm and warm, and her eyes flicked uncertainly up to his. "Jesse, I don't think this is such - "

"Yes, it is." He moved again, holding her in place as he brought his body flush against hers. Her head tipped back farther so she could still look him in the eye, but she did not attempt to run. "You made one big mistake in all of this. You made assumptions about me, and you guessed wrong."

Rachel's dark eyes closed, though he didn't think it had anything to do with his words. The feel of her body pressed against his once more was overpowering, and he wanted nothing more than to drop his head, pressing it against hers and reveling in the intensity of the simple touch.

"This thing you think you gave me—freedom, you called it. It's not. You made a choice for me instead of letting me choose for myself. How is that freedom?"

"You don't want this," she whispered, dropping her forehead to rest against his shoulder. There was a silent plea behind her words—silent, but he heard it nonetheless. "This wasn't what you signed up for."

"If you mean a future with you, that's exactly what I signed up for." Jesse moved one of his hands from her waist, slipping it into the sleek fall of her hair. It felt exactly how he remembered—cool and soft, like water slipping through his hands. "It's what I signed up for when I came back to you your junior year in high school, and again last year. It's what I signed up for every time I touched you—every time I said your name. How could you not know that? How could you possibly not know?"

"But Gracie-"

"Is part of you, and part of me." He held her tighter against him. "No, this isn't what we planned. But you know what they say about the best-laid plans. I get that you're a package deal, and that's fine. Now that I know about her, I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Jesse, you can't just show up after a year and start saying things like that to me." Her body shook, a trembling pulse running through them both. "I had this planned out."

"Are you saying you don't want me?" Jesse almost added the caveat that he wouldn't believe her if she tried to say so, but he forced himself not to. The time for firm truths was past. She was close to crying, and that was something he never liked to see. She was too dear to him. He was still angry about her refusal to tell him about his daughter, though he understood her reasoning. She had been trying to do what she thought was best in a difficult situation, but she'd caused them both a year's worth of unnecessary heartache by doing so. He wanted desperately to keep her here in his arms, but he needed her to say the words first. He needed to know that she wanted him here just as much as he wanted to stay.

"I'm saying that I put all this behind me," she said. "Out of my head. When I chose Gracie, I knew that meant I'd never see you again. It killed me, but I made my decision."

Yes. Yes, he understood that much. She'd given herself a choice between her child and its father, and she'd chosen the baby. He couldn't fault her for the choice she made, but she shouldn't have had to make it. It was wholly unnecessary.

"You're being ridiculous," he said with a gentle smile. "It doesn't have to be a choice."

"But I said goodbye to you."

"And now I'm saying hello." Jesse couldn't help himself. He lowered his head and pressed his lips softly against her head. "Let me in, Rachel."

She said nothing, and Jesse tightened his grip on her body. She couldn't tell him to leave now. If she did he'd fight her, word for word, until she gave in. He'd returned to this city to get her back, and his resolve had not wavered.

"Jesse," she said, and she shifted slightly in his arms. "I don't know..."

"Well, I do. It's okay, Rach. If you don't think you can trust your own self, trust me. For once, trust me."

"I do trust you," she said softly. "We're not kids anymore."

"No," Jesse agreed. "We have one, though. For her sake, if not for ours, you have to give me this chance."

Rachel was silent for a long moment. Jesse let her think quietly, knowing she was wrestling with a difficult choice and that, once made, this time it would be for good. There was no going back after this. He ached for her choice to be the right one. Maybe he hadn't expected the baby, but that didn't mean he didn't want her. Rachel was everything to him, and Gracie was part of her. It floored him, now that he thought about it. They'd created something small and perfect—something he'd now gotten to hold in his arms. She was a real little person, she was his, and he wasn't willing to give her up any more than he was willing to give up her mother.

"I thought of you," Rachel admitted, her words no more than a whisper breathed against his shoulder. "Every milestone—every time I went for a sonogram, every time I felt her kick. I imagined what it would be like if you were with me. If you were as happy about it as I was."

"I would have been," he said tightly, "if you'd given me the chance."

Rachel shook her head slightly. "Please don't, Jesse. I made my choice. You don't have to like it, but it's in the past and you have to accept it."

It was undeniably true. Jesse stared at the playpen behind Rachel. Gracie's little mint-colored body was still, her expression solemn as she slept. He saw the little wispy curls on her head, just the same as he'd had at that age. She looked like any other dark-haired baby—though far more beautiful, he thought, though he _was_ biased. As she grew, he wondered if she would start to look more like him, or like Rachel. Would she be dark and delicate like her mother? Or taller and fairer, like him? Her eyes were cloudy blue, but he thought he'd heard something about babies' eyes changing color as they got older. Maybe they would turn brown, dark and soulful, like her mother's eyes.

"It will take time to accept what we've lost," he admitted, holding Rachel close. "The time we could have had. I didn't get to see you pregnant. I wasn't there when she was born."

"There's video," Rachel said, though her voice told him she knew this was no replacement for not being there. "Besides, it was messy and gross—way worse than on TV. Poor Kurt had to leave the room."

Jesse grimaced. His first inclination was to snap at her, demanding to know why Kurt was allowed to be there when he wasn't, but he held his peace. Rachel knew by now how he felt, and picking a fight wasn't going to help his cause.

"I'm going to be there for all of it next time," he said instead, firm and unwavering.

Surprisingly, Rachel did not argue the point.

"Come here." Jesse tipped her head up gently, running his fingers across the sharply delicate line of her jaw. Their faces were so close—he could see the hint of soft peach fuzz under her ear, just where she liked him to kiss. He lowered his head, watching as her eyes fluttered closed. A soft sigh of capitulation left her mouth just before he kissed her.

She tasted and felt exactly as he remembered—warm and vaguely sweet, her full lips soft and pliant, as if made specifically for his kiss and nothing else. He ran the tip of his tongue along the curve of her lower lip, knowing he couldn't push too far or too fast. His body was desperately hungry for more of her—and not necessarily sex, either. For close to a year now—ever since leaving her—he'd been not only celibate, but quite literally untouched. With the exception of on-stage choreography and the occasional handshake with a friend, Jesse hadn't touched another person since their hotel tryst. He hadn't wanted to. Every girl's voice, every trilling laugh, reminded him of Rachel. He couldn't get her out of his head and, truth be told, he didn't want to. She was all he'd ever want—all he'd ever need. Now she was back in his arms after a year's absence and he wanted to grasp her tightly, squeezing her until they both melted from the pressure, until by some unexplained force of nature they consumed each other. She was upsetting and infuriating and entirely inscrutable...but she was also everything he could ever want. Beautiful. Funny. Frighteningly intelligent, deeply ambitious, and horrendously talented.

And the mother of his child.

That last one floored him every time he thought it. She hadn't done it for him, but it hardly mattered. She'd done it—borne him a child—and nothing could erase that fact. They were tied together now in a way nobody could ever break. Not even her.

But they seemed to be past that particular problem at the moment. Jesse deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue against hers, and he felt her shudder in his arms. She was scared, and he understood that. He'd upset her carefully-laid plans by coming back into her life after she thought she'd closed him out. Having her plans so abruptly turned upside down was unsettling and frightening, and he didn't blame her for struggling against everything his presence represented.

But he didn't for one minute believe that she didn't want him, despite the fact that she'd so clearly proved she didn't need him. The way she responded to his kiss told him more than enough.

"Jesse," she said, tearing her mouth away from his. His head followed hers as she turned away, a shattered breath drawn into her lungs. "Jesse," she said again. It was a plea, but he couldn't quite tell for what.

"I'm here," he said, gathering her more firmly in his arms. "I'm here."

Her arms were around his shoulders, her hands gripping his shirt in tight fists. She was going to tear the fabric if she pulled much harder, but Jesse didn't care. He'd gladly parade around New York and back to his hotel with a torn shirt or none at all. "You have to choose," she said breathlessly. Her eyes met his, and he watched as the last of her showface fell away. The raw hurt of the past year was etched deeply across her features and frozen in her dark eyes, just as he knew it was in his. She'd had happiness without him—success on stage, a child—but it didn't negate the sorrow. "If you don't mean it," she said, "or you're not sure, I need you to leave now. Walk out that door and don't come back." Her eyes didn't drop, though they faltered. "I've said goodbye to you too many times. I can't do it again. I won't."

"Haven't you been listening to me?" Jesse lowered his forehead to press against hers. Her breath was warm on his lips and he closed his eyes, savoring the moment. She had surrendered—was his for the taking. All he needed to do was claim what he'd come to New York to take back. "I'm playing for keeps."

* * *

><p>Sometime late that night, Rachel's phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, she raised one corner of her mouth. "It's Kurt," she said.<p>

"Pick up," Jesse urged. "I want to hear the little rat's excuse for not telling me about my kid."

Rachel reached over to her nightstand and tossed Jesse the phone before climbing out of bed. She slipped on a white silk robe—much to Jesse's disappointment—and left the room.

Her bedroom was lovely—just as spare and calming as the rest of her apartment. Jesse particularly liked the fact that she didn't have a giant king-sized bed. The smaller mattress was much more conducive to snuggling, and he didn't plan to let her out of his grasp for quite some time—or ever, if he had anything to do with it.

"Okay, look." Kurt's high, nervous voice piped through the phone as soon as Jesse accepted the call. "Whatever he said, I didn't do it. Shit. Okay, I did, but I had your best interests at heart. You bailed on our dinner plans, so I know you must be pissed. But what you need to understand is-"

"Relax and breathe, Kurt." Jesse hid a laugh behind his hand as Rachel returned to the room with Judy Grace in her arms.

"Oh my god—Jesse!"

Jesse smirked. "Yes?"

"Where is she? Is she okay?"

"I think the fact that I'm answering her phone speaks volumes." Jesse hunted around on the phone's interface until he figured out how to turn on the speaker. "But I have a bone to pick with you. How could you not tell me about Gracie?"

Rachel pursed her lips but said nothing as Jesse set the phone on the bed and reached for the baby. She let him take her, tucking a lock of long hair behind her ear as Jesse lifted the baby to his shoulder and held her there.

"I distinctly remember telling you that it wasn't my place to start divulging Rachel's secrets," Kurt shot back. "I stand by that statement."

"Me, too," Rachel said, sharing a long glance with Jesse. "It wasn't your place, Kurt. In fact, it wasn't your place to divulge _anything_."

"I claim best-friend prerogative," Kurt said loftily. "I wasn't going to tell him what you were hiding, but you know how I felt about your choice to keep Gracie from him."

"And I told you months ago that you were entitled to your opinion, but that doesn't give you the right to meddle."

"Best-friend prerogative," Kurt insisted. "So why didn't you show for dinner if you weren't furious with me?"

"I was...otherwise occupied," Rachel said, a bright blush lighting her cheeks. Jesse grinned again, turning his cheek to kiss his baby's soft little head. If admitting that they'd spent the last few hours in bed getting reacquainted embarrassed her, he wondered how she'd feel if he admitted to Kurt that they were still there—in bed, that is—and neither of them were in any way properly dressed.

"That's...really gross. Very disturbing."Jesse thought he could actually hear how Kurt was probably wrinkling his nose right about then.

"You asked." Jesse laughed. He wasn't completely over everything that had happened—Rachel's deception, and how Kurt had covered for his friend. But the last few hours had gone a long way toward starting to heal over the raw anger and hurt. In time, he was sure, he'd learn to accept what had happened.

Just as long as it never happened again.

As Rachel chatted with her friend, promising to reschedule their dinner date, Jesse listened with half an ear. Most of his attention was riveted on the baby cradled against his shoulder. She was awake and starting to make little noises, and she wiggled and moved in the strangest way. He thought she was trying to lift her own heavy head, but she wasn't having much luck.

"She's hungry, Jesse," Rachel said, picking up the phone. "Give her here."

"I can do it." He didn't want to surrender the baby yet. She was his, and if he was going to be part of her life he needed to learn to do these things. "But she just ate."

"She eats every few hours. Get used to never sleeping through the night again." Rachel reached out and smoothed a hand down Gracie's little back. "Everything is in the kitchen. If you don't understand the directions, come get me."

Jesse stood, Gracie in his arms. She squirmed again and the first cranky squawk left her mouth. It wasn't loud, but the meaning was perfectly clear. He grinned. "You complain like your mother."

"I heard that!" Rachel yelled from the bedroom as he made his way to the little kitchen. It felt both surreal and absolutely perfect to be walking around Rachel's apartment in his boxers, their baby in his arms. This was actually a pretty nice place, he had to admit, though his original opinion still remained. Rachel and his daughter needed to be in a building with a doorman. He knew she was doing fine without him financially, but with twice the income, they could afford something much better. And absolutely nothing was too good for his girl. He rubbed her back as she complained again, loudly, and he glanced around the tiny kitchen. There were several bottles in a dish drainer, and the plastic tub of formula was on the counter. But he needed two hands in order to figure this out, and they were both currently involved in holding Gracie.

"Think, St. James," he muttered. Rachel had done this by herself for a while now. He could figure it out. There was the playpen in the living room, but he didn't particularly want to put her down. Not when it felt like he'd only just got her.

It didn't look like he had another choice, though, and Jesse sighed. "Sorry, princess," he said, kissing her again. "Daddy will be right back. I promise."

Gracie did not appreciate being left in her playpen any more than Jesse appreciated putting her there. She squalled, her face wrinkling up in a furious scowl and her arms jerking unhappily. Something inside him twisted, to his utter shock. He'd heard babies cry before. It was annoying, but it was what they did. Like any other adult, he did his best to tune it out.

But not this time. Jesse found his hands reaching out before he realized what he was doing, and he was in the process of picking her up again when Rachel hurried into the room, phone in her hand, her long hair swirling around her silk-clad shoulders.

"She cried when I put her down," he said defensively, ignoring the amused eyebrow Rachel quirked at him. "You can't seriously expect me to ignore that."

The uncomfortable twisting feeling in his gut eased as Jesse pulled his daughter back to his shoulder. She was still wiggling and fussing, but the furious howls had quieted.

Rachel rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "I'll call you back, Kurt," she said into the phone, and she pointed Jesse in the direction of the rocking chair. "Uh-huh. Yeah. Love you, too." She ended the call and turned on a lamp near the chair. "I was coming to check on you anyway," she told Jesse. "For all I know, you would have used tap water."

"What?" he said, shifting the baby off his shoulder and into his arms as he settled in Rachel's wooden rocking chair. It wasn't the most comfortable seat, but Gracie's fussy noises decreased in volume when he pushed with his feet and started to gently rock. "Does she only drink Evian? Perrier?"

"Boiled, actually."

Jesse watched in fascination as Rachel moved around the kitchen. He couldn't quite tell what she was doing, but she was obviously quite familiar with this process. He didn't think he'd ever get tired of watching the quick, self-assured way she moved, her body graceful, each action swift and sure. "Teach me," he said without getting up. "I have to learn."

"Only use water that's been boiled," Rachel said readily. "I boil enough in the morning to last all day, and keep it in a container in the refrigerator. She's too young for her immune system to have fully kicked in, so we need to be careful about germs." The 'we' did not escape Jesse, and he smiled gently as he recognized it. "The chart for how much formula to use is on the can. It's important to get the amounts exactly right. Too much water and she won't get the nutrition she needs. Too little and her kidneys could shut down."

Jesse blinked several times, glancing at the baby currently complaining in his arms. Seriously—a small measuring mistake could do that much damage? He was suddenly very, very glad that Rachel had stopped him from doing this himself. This wasn't like the goldfish he'd had as a kid—whenever he forgot to feed it, the housekeeper would just go buy him another one. But this was serious.

"I felt stupid buying a sterilizer when she's not going to need it all that long, so I sterilize her bottles the old fashioned way," Rachel continued. "Every other day or so I boil them on the stove for about five minutes."

She walked around the breakfast bar, holding a bottle in one hand and a rag in the other. She tossed the rag over Jesse's shoulder and handed him the bottle. "It's warm," he said. There didn't seem to be very much in there, either.

"I just heated it." Rachel paused. "Don't ever put a bottle in the microwave. Always do it in a pan of water on the stove."

"Like in the movies?" Jesse shifted his arms and offered Gracie the bottle. "Do you test the temperature on the inside of your wrist, too?"

"Not anymore. You get a feel for how long it takes after a while." Rachel chuckled. "Hold her more upright; when she's flat on her back like that she swallows a lot of air. That's why the bottle is angled."

"I did wonder." Jesse propped her a little more vertically in his arm. She seemed to like that better, and she latched onto the synthetic nipple eagerly. Rachel dropped a kiss in his hair and wandered back into the kitchen; Jesse let her, too intent on watching the baby in his arms. This was a huge advantage to Rachel not breast-feeding—something he hadn't thought about before. Now he got to help. "Daddy's here," he said softly over the quiet hissing of a coffee maker turning on. The rich smell of good roasted coffee reached his nose and he breathed in deeply. It was late, but this was New York, the city that never sleeps. He was wide awake, his body confused by the time change but his mind and emotions on a completely different kind of high. "Daddy's here," he said again, "and we're going to be best friends, you and me. You'll have a spoiled New York childhood, right here with me. We'll eat hot dogs at Yankee Stadium, and watch ballet at The Met, and we'll sneak away to Coney Island once in a while when your mom's not looking."

"How about you wait until she can hold her head up by herself before you start scheming?" Rachel suggested, her voice languid and amused as she brought a big dish of what looked like leftover tabbouleh into the living room and placed it on the small coffee table. Jesse eyed the food, feeling his stomach rumble. How long had it been since he last ate? He couldn't remember. All he'd been concerned about at the time was finding Rachel.

"When will that be?" he asked Rachel's retreating back as she returned to the kitchen, gathering mugs of coffee and bringing them to the table.

"She does pretty well for short bursts of time." Rachel peered at them in the dim lamplight and chuckled. "You're not supposed to let her fall asleep with the nipple in her mouth, Jesse."

He frowned and transferred his attention back to the baby in his arms. She wasn't quite asleep, but her head was definitely lolling and her eyes were more closed than open. She was adorable, and he had to join Rachel's laugh with his own.

"I'll burp her," Rachel said, holding her arms out, but Jesse passed her the bottle instead.

"I can do it," he insisted. "I just put her on my shoulder and rub her back, right?"

"Make sure it's the shoulder with the burp rag." Rachel eyed him cautiously, as if she doubted that he could do it by himself. "There's another way they taught me at the hospital, but I prefer it like this."

Jesse put his daughter on his shoulder and began rubbing her back, trying to match the way he'd watched Rachel do it earlier. He felt a little ridiculous; his hand almost swallowed her whole. "Are you going to teach me how to change diapers, too?"

"Of course. And make homemade baby food, when she gets a little older. Then there's baths, and putting her to bed, and walking with her when she's fussy and won't sleep." Rachel ticked things off on her fingers, and Jesse knew she was teasing him with the myriad responsibilities of parenthood but he honestly didn't think any of it sounded the least bit bad. Slightly daunting, perhaps, until he got the hang of things, but he was looking forward to every moment. "But you're not coming with me when she goes to the doctor," Rachel added, almost as an afterthought.

"Why not?" Jesse both heard and felt the baby burp, and he pulled her away from his shoulder.

"Because if you can't handle hearing her cry for her bottle, there's no way you're going to handle sitting through her vaccinations." Rachel grinned and took Gracie from him, putting her back in the playpen. Jesse was convinced she was asleep before Rachel touched her.

"God, no," he said, grabbing a spoonful of tabbouleh straight from the dish and into his mouth. "You get to do that part on your own."

"Yeah, I think that's best for everyone involved." Rachel dropped onto the loveseat and Jesse moved to sit beside her. "You're turning into Dad-zilla; I can see it already."

"Nothing wrong with that." He took another spoonful of food. Tabbouleh didn't usually have meat in it, but Rachel had added chunks of cold grilled "chicken" and he liked it. "This is good," he said as she joined him in eating right from the dish. "The fake chicken actually tastes like chicken."

"That's because it is chicken." She took a drink of coffee and nestled against his shoulder. Jesse gladly moved his arm around her, drawing her close against his side. After almost a year apart, he was as starved for touch as she was. A few hours wasn't going to make up for all the time they'd missed. "Turns out having a baby takes a lot out of you in more ways than one. I'm working with my doctor to up my protein, calcium, and iron levels. He recommended that I step back from the vegan diet for a while, and together we decided it was best for Gracie and for me that I not breast-feed."

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," Rachel assured him. "It's common for women to struggle with nutrient levels during and after pregnancy. I started eating a more balanced diet and eased back into the animal products, and things have been fine."

"Will you go back?"

"To being vegan?" Rachel shrugged. "Probably, but I don't know when. I'm feeling pretty good right now."

Jesse was, too. There were plenty of things they still needed to talk about, but it could all wait. Right now, tonight, he was sitting on a loveseat with the girl of his dreams as their daughter slept nearby. It had taken them a ridiculous amount of time and heartache to get to this point, and he didn't plan to waste a second more.

* * *

><p>Two months later, the holidays over, a young man stepped out of a taxi in the West Village and looked hesitantly around. He was dressed smartly in dark slacks, a deep green button-down shirt, and a two-toned black tie. Jesse eyed him for a moment before stepping forward. He'd never met the guy before, after all—not in person anyway.<p>

"Jesse St. James," he said, offering his right hand. He held Gracie against his hip with his left. She'd grown so much in just two months that he could hardly believe it when he looked at her.

"Hi," the younger man said. His dark hazel eyes were kind and his handshake was firm. "This must be Judy Grace. I'd know Rachel Berry's daughter anywhere."

"Is it the hair?" Jesse asked with a chuckle. Several long phone conversations had passed between them, and he thought he could definitely learn to like this guy.

"It's the nose."

Both men laughed. "Whatever," Jesse said. "She gets her nose from my side of the family, lucky kid."

"So," the man said as they headed up a flight of stairs to the second-floor professional studios, "I'm a little curious why you're doing this. We don't really know each other, you and me, and I have to admit that I was a little surprised when I got your first call."

"Kurt did me a favor a couple of months back." Jesse kissed Gracie's riotous curls gently, hiding his smile in her dark, flyaway hair. "I got another chance at happiness thanks to him, and I want to return the favor if it's possible." He grimaced. "Nobody should have to live with what-ifs like that."

"I've missed him," the other man admitted softly. "So much. But, I don't know, things just didn't work out."

"So here's your chance to try again." Jesse stopped at the elegant glass door through which he'd walked little more than two months ago. Then, he'd been furious, barely containing his frustration as he demanded to know Rachel's whereabouts. Now he stood with his baby girl in his arms, and he and Rachel were starting to talk about getting married. It was everything he'd ever hoped for—more than he'd dared allow himself to dream—and, in a way, he owed it all to Kurt. His father told him that the St. James family always paid their debts, and he had every intention of doing so. "You're the one that got away."

The younger man nodded, looking just about as nervous as Jesse had felt the first time he asked Rachel whether he was allowed to move in. Taking the initiative—something Jesse never had a problem with—he pushed open the door to the pale, elegant office.

"Kurt," Jesse called, and he heard a rustling sound from behind the partition that separated Kurt's desk space from the rest of the office. "Someone here to see you."

"Is it my favorite niece?" Kurt's voice was bright and he rounded the corner with his arms already partially raised as if to take Gracie.

"Not just her." Jesse half turned, and with that motion Kurt's gaze was dragged to the other occupant of the room.

"_Blaine_."

Jesse knew that light in Kurt's eyes; he saw it often enough in Rachel's. "Come on, baby," he murmured to his daughter. "I think we'll leave your uncles alone for a while. What do you say we go surprise mommy at rehearsal for lunch?"

* * *

><p><em>AN: Yes, the baby's name is the same as in my first futurefic. I'm not gonna spend endless hours pouring over baby name sites for a character; I didn't even do that when my son was born, lol! Mwah! Love you, duckies!_


	14. Asian F

_A/N: Okay, I said I wasn't going to do it. I know that. No Glee/SA crossover stuff from me because so many people have already done it, and...yes, I know. But Season 3 is pissing me off, and Episode 3 (Asian F) really just pushed me over the edge. This oneshot exists for one reason: to make me feel better. Well, also for northstar, who said she had a bad day last week and humored me when I ranted about how much I LOVED the Mike storyline in Asian F and HATED the rest of the episode. So I apologize if it comes off meaner or more vindictive than usual (I already know it's choppier and less polished than usual) – that's just how I'm feeling right now. Sigh. As always, all standard disclaimers apply._

_For my British readers, Chutes and Ladders is the American version of Snakes and Ladders. What is it in Canada, guys?_

_What else...oh, I know I'm not using the term "workshop" correctly. This is not a real theatrical process as far as I know; I made it up for the sake of my story._

* * *

><p><strong>Proving Grounds<strong>

Emma wanted to clean something. Okay, she usually wanted to clean something, but the coming confrontation was making her feel extremely nervous and it hadn't even happened yet. Both Rachel and Mercedes were good—very good. Artie favored Mercedes (though Emma felt perhaps it was more out of friendship than actual merit) and Emma herself favored Rachel. It was Bieste who actually proposed the final compromise of double-casting the role of Maria. That way, there would be no room for either of them to cry favoritism.

She still feared that Rachel might throw a fit, though. Rachel Berry had a track record of not liking when anyone else got something she felt she deserved, and she'd made no secret of her desire to play the leading lady. Emma tried to look on the bright side of every situation, and she never liked to think badly of her kids, but she still wasn't looking forward to this.

The girls currently sat across the desk from Emma and her compatriots, and both of them looked unhappy. Rachel looked tenser. Mercedes seemed...almost bored with the proceedings. Which was strange. Will had said just the other day that he thought he was really getting through to her and working on dispelling some of her bad attitude. Emma didn't know where the attitude had come from, to be honest. Mercedes Jones had never been a troublemaker. She had her own ways of doing things, to be sure. She was loud and unyielding when she thought she was wronged—the Great Tot Debacle of last year definitely came to mind—and she _did_ have an attitude. But the same could be said of Rachel, really, if you thought about it. And Mercedes had never caused problems before. When challenged, she backed down. Her short-lived stint of unruly demands during New Directions' Night of Neglect last year had been nipped in the bud, and as far as Emma knew, there hadn't been any problems since.

But the look she was casting at them now was anything but pleasant, and Emma honestly didn't know why. Mercedes hadn't done poorly at her audition at all. In fact, Artie seemed to think she'd out-divaed Rachel Berry. Emma admitted that her ear wasn't well-trained enough to give a definitive opinion, but she was willing to at least entertain the notion.

"Please don't don't tell us that we have to try out again," Mercedes said now.

"No. We've come to a decision," Artie reassured her with a helpful smile.

"It was one of the hardest decisions of my life," Coache Bieste added. "And that includes when I had to sell one of my prize donkeys to pay my gas bill. I sold Kim, but I kept Khloe."

Emma steeled herself. The attempt at humor wasn't working—the tension in the room remained just as thick as ever. "So...um..." she started, ready to break the news as gently as possible. Really, she hoped both girls would see this the way she did. Everyone got to win—there were no losers.

"Hold up a minute." Mercedes turned to the girl sitting next to her. "I already know what you're going to say, and I want to hear it from Rachel first." She folded her arms across her chest. "Tell me you were better than me. I dare you."

Emma felt her mouth drop. This wasn't what she wanted to hear at _all_. Mercedes and Rachel were supposed to be friends, weren't they? What was with this sudden cruelty?

"Tell me," Mercedes goaded.

"Oh no," Emma whispered. She was the guidance counselor. It was her job to stop confrontations like this, but she wasn't at all comfortable doing so. "Mercedes," she tried, knowing she didn't sound nearly firm enough, "that's not - "

"Why is it that no one ever wants to hurt her feelings?" Mercedes demanded, growing louder with every word. "You know, it's always been the Rachel Berry Show around here, but it's not going to be for me. Not my senior year."

"Mercedes," Artie tried, "don't make this a stupid pride thing."

"Oh, it's a pride thing," she snapped back. "But it's _not_ stupid." She opened her mouth to say more, but a single word cut her off.

"Wait." The voice was Rachel's. In all the commotion from Mercedes, Emma had almost forgotten about the other diva in the room. She braced, waiting for the tirade to begin, but—surprisingly—it didn't. Emma glanced at the girl, and she was honestly surprised by what she saw.

Rachel looked...uncomfortable. Distinctly unhappy. But not angry; not offended. She shifted in her seat, her actions almost nervous.

Rachel Berry was never nervous.

"Wait," she said again, a little louder. Coach Bieste, who had been trying to reason with Mercedes, stopped talking and the room went quiet.

Emma took another look at the smaller diva. She had been favoring 1950's style dresses rather than reindeer sweaters lately, and Emma wondered if the role of Maria had anything to do with it. She looked more grown-up like this, her hair pulled back, her bangs giving a hint of sophistication to her otherwise youthful face. She wasn't a pretty girl like Quinn Fabray, and Emma well remembered several run-ins she'd had with Rachel over the years where the girl bemoaned her appearance and wished fervently to look more like McKinley's ex-head cheerleader. But what Rachel didn't seem to understand was that she had her own unique kind of dark beauty, and it worked for her. Her features—nose, mouth—were big and expressive, and they went well with her over-the-top personality. She wouldn't seem...right...if she had the delicate perfection of Quinn's sharper, harder features. It wouldn't match who she was on the inside, and people would recognize that there was something off about her.

Now Emma waited as Rachel tucked her hands into her lap, squeezing her fingers together in a nervous habit Emma knew well. Emma herself often held her hands like that—in her case, to stop the compulsive cleaning that had been the bane of her life since she was five years old. Rachel was probably just trying not to fidget, but Emma understood nonetheless. What the girl had to say was making her very nervous.

"I...didn't want to do this. Not this way," Rachel said. "But I don't want a fight, and I don't think I have much choice."

"Go on," Emma urged, sharing a glance with Bieste. She really didn't understand Will's close friendship with the new football coach, but she was hoping to get the chance now that they were co-directing the school play. Whatever was important to Will was important to her, too, and that included his friendships.

"I—need to go back, actually," Rachel said. "I'm sorry—I know I'm not making much sense. I need to go back a couple of weeks, when I got a...rather unexpected phone call."

"From the founder of Grranimals, wanting you to model his clothing?" Mercedes snarked.

"Mercedes," Emma rebuked lightly. "Go on, Rachel. Who was the phone call from?"

Rachel took a breath. She glanced at Mercedes as if knowing this wasn't going to make her rival happy. "Jesse St. James."

"Figures," Mercedes muttered. "Are you cheating on the whole glee club again, or just Finn this time?"

"I'm not cheating on anybody!" Rachel protested.

"Who's St. James?" Bieste asked, looking puzzled.

Emma had heard the story secondhand from both Will and—a little—from Shelby, but she wasn't entirely sure she understood. Jesse had pretended to be Rachel's boyfriend, then led her to Shelby. Then he'd turned traitor and returned to Vocal Adrenaline, engaging in some not-very-sporstmanlike behavior with the other members of his team. Then, out of the blue, he'd returned to McKinley at the end of last year a reformed man, and had promised both to help New Directions and to treat Rachel right this time. Emma hadn't heard exactly what happened after that, but it was clear that Rachel was dating Finn and Jesse was nowhere to be found. Something obviously hadn't gone according to his plans.

"Jesse stayed in New York after Nationals," Rachel said quietly, ignoring Coach Bieste's question. "When he called, he said that he'd won the lead in a new musical and he wanted me to come to New York and audition for a role in it, too."

"Still falling for St. Jerk's tricks?" Mercedes snorted. "I feel sorry for you, Rachel. I really do."

"I feel sorry for _you_," Rachel shot back, a hint of her normal fierceness returning. "What is _with_ this attitude lately? I thought we were friends."

"You thought wrong." Mercedes folded her arms. "Can we get on with announcing how badly I kicked her ass at the diva-off? I want my part."

"You're getting it," Rachel snapped. "And you know what? You just made my decision a lot easier." She rose to her feet as she spoke, and every inch of her small frame dripped a broken kind of frustration. There had been rivalry and bad blood between these two for quite some time, and Emma knew that. What she hadn't known was how poorly Mercedes would behave. Most of the time she felt that Rachel's reactions were a little over the top, but not today. Mercedes was deliberately baiting her, and Emma hated to see it.

"Rachel," Emma said, raising a hand and gesturing for her to sit. "Please. Why are you suddenly not interested in the part anymore?"

"You can't just give it to me like that!" Mercedes yelled. "I won it fair and square!"

"Maybe you did and maybe you didn't," Rachel said. Her voice was firm, but Emma saw a telltale little quiver in her hands. "We'll never know now—I'm giving you that, Mercedes, even though you don't deserve it. I'm giving you the gift of not knowing, because if your name isn't on that cast list, you won't be able to live with yourself." She turned back to Emma and Bieste, Artie wedged between them looking like he was watching the best soap opera ever devised.

"Rachel, wait," Coach Bieste said, and she picked up Emma's desk phone. "I have a feeling this is something your coach is going to want to hear. Let me call Mr. Schuester in before you go any further."

The phone call was made, and Will jogged down the hall and into the office just a few moments later. "Is this why you quit Booty Camp?" he asked Mercedes, settling against a wall. It was starting to feel distinctly cramped in there.

"I have a meeting with my directors," Mercedes said witheringly, attitude dripping from each word. Emma didn't like that tone of voice at all. Was this the attitude Will had been talking about? She knew teenagers liked to push boundaries and needed a chance to experiment with their personalities, but this was...bad. Worse than Quinn Fabray's sudden transformation into a skank, in some ways.

"Mercedes, I don't like - " Emma started, but Coach Bieste cut her off.

"Rachel was just about to explain to us," the bigger woman said, "why she's giving up the part of Maria."

"She can't give it up—it isn't hers!" Mercedes exploded. "You are _not_ going to make me look like a charity case!"

"_Mercedes_." Will's bark was both loud and unexpected, and for the moment it worked. Emma stared at him wonderingly. She'd known Will Schuester for several years now, and she'd never known him to be quite so forceful. It was...kind of a turn-on, actually. "Rachel," he continued, his voice softer but no less firm. "What's this about giving up on West Side Story? It was your idea, after all."

"I know," Rachel said. She wasn't smiling, and below the warm tint of her skin she looked like she'd gone pale. "Playing Maria has always been a huge dream of mine. I still want to do it someday. Just...not right now."

"Why not?" Will pressed. "You've never shied away from competition before."

"It's not the competition." Rachel glanced at Emma as if searching for some backup, but Emma couldn't begin to imagine what the girl wanted from her. She had very little of the story herself—what was she supposed to tell Will? "I...had a decision to make. This whole...altercation has helped me make it."

"What does that mean?" Emma pressed. "You mentioned New York. Are you going to ask your parents if they'll let you try out for that...project?" She carefully decided not to mention that Jesse St. James' name had been brought up. She might not know everything, but she knew enough to understand that his name would never bring up good feelings for the members of New Directions, including Will.

"I did that a while ago," Rachel admitted. She dropped her head, staring at her hands clasped in her lap. "They called me back two days later and offered me the part."

Silence.

Suddenly, Mercedes laughed. It wasn't a kind sound at all. "It's an elaborate scheme, but you seriously fell for it," she snickered. "You gave up Maria for a part that doesn't even exist. St. Jerk got you good this time."

"He didn't!" Rachel snapped. "And quit with the names, will you? He's been nothing but sweet since he took me to prom last year, even after I broke up with him...rather publicly, I might add."

"Rachel, I hate to say it," Will said, and his voice was surprisingly gentle. Emma felt that he really meant it—he didn't want to tell Rachel what he had to tell her. "But Mercedes is probably right, no matter how inappropriately she expressed herself. This sort of thing—it just doesn't happen. Jesse is extremely talented and he might well have landed a role, but he's an unknown. No director in their right mind is going to take him seriously if he asks for a voice in the casting decisions."

Rachel shook her head adamantly. "Michael—the director—sat down with me and my dads. It's all above-board. It's a...different kind of show. Not your typical Broadway musical. He wanted an unknown cast, and he was relying on word-of-mouth recommendations rather than traditional casting calls. Jesse said Michael saw him at an audition for something else." The corner of her mouth quirked up in a secret sort of smile. "Michael told me that he could see Jesse's arrogance from a mile away, and that was what attracted him for the part."

"Even so - " Will started, but Rachel shook her head again, her dark hair swirling in all directions.

"No," she said, "I'm serious. It's all legitimate, I swear." She dropped her voice. "I signed a contract. My dads did, too, because I'm underage. I have a script." She pulled a thick, bound script from her bookbag, waving it at Will. "I'm serious. I know you gave up your Broadway chance, but...this is my dream. I can't just let it go."

"What kind of crap is that, anyway?" Mercedes demanded, snatching the thick sheaf of paper from Rachel's grasp. "Spring Awakening? Sounds dirty."

"It's...a little risque," Rachel allowed. "But it's beautiful – so beautiful. It's a tragedy, a period piece set over a hundred years ago."

"The only tragedy will be when you finally wake up and realize this isn't real," Mercedes said, and she tossed the script back in Rachel's direction.

"Rachel," Will said, ignoring Mercedes' jabs for the moment, "why didn't you come talk to me about this sooner? Why did you wait until now?"

"I didn't know what I wanted to do," Rachel admitted. "I hate the thought of leaving New Directions, especially since you've got a numbers problem again. And the role of Maria is _mine_. It's always been mine. I was seriously considering staying." She bit her lip. "Then there's Finn..."

"Is that really more important to you than Broadway?" Will asked carefully.

"Probably not," Rachel admitted. "But taken together...it comes close." She released her lip and shook her head. "But not like this. Not with all the bad feelings running around. I'm tired of it, Mr. Schue. I want...I just want to be in a place where I know my talent, at least, is respected. I'm sorry, but this afternoon made it clear that this isn't that place. It never really has been, but this is the last straw. I could have backed out of my contract, but I'm not going to. I leave for New York in two weeks."

Emma watched as Rachel stood. She was always so self assured, but for a moment—just a moment—she looked like the young girl she really was. She hesitated for a moment, then stepped carefully out of the crowded room.

"Did that really just happen?" Artie asked carefully. "Is Rachel really going to Broadway?"

"It looks that way," Will said, meeting Emma's eyes with a look she couldn't quite decipher. "It definitely looks that way."

"But what about glee club?"

Will turned back to Artie. "We're losing our star—that's what. But we can't be too upset. If this really is happening, she has a right to pursue it. We can't deny her the chance at her future."

* * *

><p>Several months later, Will was running late to glee rehearsal—yet again. He didn't know how it happened—time just kept getting away from him. No matter what watch he wore, or how many alarms he set on his phone, he just couldn't ever seem to get anywhere on time.<p>

Not that his schedule helped. It was ridiculous trying to teach a full courseload, run the glee club, and keep up with all the students who sought him out as a caring adult figure when they needed help. He tried to shift some of them over to Emma when he could, but it just didn't always work. Some of the kids wanted him, and only him.

As he walked swiftly toward the choir room, Will's ears perked. A voice—a joyful giggle—hit his ears. It was a voice he hadn't heard in quite some time.

So he was at least somewhat prepared when he entered the classroom and saw both Rachel Berry and Jesse St. James standing before him.

Finn had an arm draped over Rachel's shoulder, and he was shooting nasty glances at Jesse. But that was par for the course with those two, and Will overlooked it. Not that he had particularly expected to see them both in the same room ever again. Rachel had told him after their disastrous showing at Nationals last year that Jesse was staying in New York rather than returning to Ohio. Finn had won their pissing match, and Will had assumed that was the end of that.

Apparently not.

Rachel looked...good, he had to admit as he appraised his old student. Her eyes sparkled, and she couldn't stop smiling. She didn't look like she'd be able to stand still if Finn's arm wasn't holding her in place.

"Mr. Schue!" she said as she caught sight of him, and true to his suspicions, she darted out from beneath Finn's grasp and bounded over. She hugged him impulsively, and he allowed it. The brief, fervent squeeze was over in an instant and she had already whirled away, grabbing for a big manila envelope in Jesse's hand. "We have a surprise for you!"

"Nice to see you, too, Rachel," Will said, a little bemused. Her behavior had always been erratic, and she often got worked up over things, but he didn't think he'd ever seen her quite this ebullient—not even after their Regionals win the previous year. "How has New York been treating you?"

"It's everything I ever dreamed it would be," she answered, bouncing a little in place. "It's amazing! I wake up every morning and when I get coffee, it's from a _New__York_ coffee shop. For the first month solid I bought a copy of the New York Times every day from a newsstand. I don't read the paper, but I did it just because I could. Because I was in _New__York_ and I could!"

Will glanced carefully at the students Rachel had left behind to follow her dream. None of them had been particularly pleased to hear that she was leaving, though some took it better than others. Kurt had tried to act supportive, though his jealousy was apparent. Finn threw a fit, especially after Jesse's involvement in the scheme was brought to light, but he and Rachel were trying to do the long-distance thing and Will assumed it was working reasonably well because he hadn't heard otherwise. The rest of the group had waffled between anger that Rachel was leaving them—putting their chances at winning even Sectionals in jeopardy—and a kind of resigned "good riddance."

Except for Mercedes. Mercedes expressed nothing but the most derisive jealousy whenever Rachel's name came up, and Will was frankly tired of it. He knew there had always been rivalry between the two, but this was getting ridiculous. Rachel was gone, and Mercedes wasn't getting over it.

She did not look happy to see her old rival now, and Will braced himself for something bad. Luckily, he thought, Rachel didn't seem to notice Mercedes' glower. She was too caught up in the excitement of whatever her news was.

"Workshops!" she announced, digging into the manila envelope.

"What are workshops?" Puck asked, looking suspicious.

"It's like a soft opening for a play," Will explained. "Like dress rehearsal, except the director is still making changes. He'll often stop the action on stage to work through something he doesn't think is quite right yet, or he'll yell direction while a scene is progressing. It's actually quite a helpful thing to watch—gives a lot of good insight into the way the theater works."

"Well, we're going into workshops in a couple of weeks," Rachel said, "and we talked the director into letting you all come watch!" She extended a stack of postcard-sized invitations to Will, and he took them carefully.

"Is that normal?" Brittany asked hesitantly. "Wouldn't that be, like, seeing the bride before the wedding?"

"No, actually; it's fairly common," Will assured her, chuckling inwardly. He'd miss Brittany next year, but for the fact that he didn't believe she'd actually graduate. "Directors will bring in colleagues to confer with them, and select members of the press, and usually family and friends of the cast all get a chance to attend at least one workshop. It's a little unusual for a whole class to be invited, but we thank you nonetheless, Rachel." Will looked at the invitations in his hand. They were glossy black with a red stripe across the front that obviously was supposed to look like a swipe from a paint roller. Stark and bold and unconventional. It would be a wonderful opportunity for his club, especially those like Kurt who wanted to follow in Rachel's footsteps. But they didn't even have the money to travel to Nationals this year—not yet anyway. How were they supposed to manage a trip to New York, too?

"Don't worry about the cost," Jesse said, speaking up for the first time. As if reading Will's mind, he flashed the choir director a vaguely amused smile. He'd been watching this all with what Will could only describe as catlike patience. He was definitely enjoying himself, but for far different reasons than Rachel. "My family supports the arts—obviously. They've agreed to fund the trip for the club."

Will wasn't entirely sure it was wise to take an offering like that from Jesse, but he didn't have any reason not to. Not that he knew of, anyway. If Sugar's father could fund Shelby's tenure, there was no reason Jesse couldn't fly them to New York to see a performance.

"You'll have to get these permission slips signed, though," Rachel said, producing a stack of paper from the big envelope. "There's some risqué material in there, and Michael doesn't want any lawsuits from angry parents. Sorry, guys."

"Risqué material?" Finn suddenly looked alarmed. "What kind of risqué material?"

Jesse snorted. "You name it, it's in there," he said easily.

"What kind of a play is this?" Finn demanded. "Tell me you're not playing a stripper, Rach. _Please_ tell me you're not."

"Finn!" Her reprimand seemed to cut through the bubble of happiness that had surrounded her, and she looked at him as if wounded. "I've been telling and telling you about it for months, and you still have to ask me that?" She crossed her arms, looking less than pleased. Will risked a glance at Jesse, but the smug smile on his face wasn't helping matters.

"Why don't you tell us a little about it, Rachel?" Will suggested, trying to stave off a confrontation. Not five minutes had passed and they were already having trouble. Of course, whenever Finn and Jesse were in a room together there was bound to be trouble. Especially when Rachel was involved, and she was definitely involved right now. She was technically—_technically_—still dating Finn, albeit long distance. But she was spending every day in Jesse's company—in what context, Will couldn't say. It was possible their on-stage characters had absolutely nothing to do with each other, though he doubted it. Jesse was too smart for that.

"It's a _beautiful_ theater piece," Rachel said, her good mood immediately restored as she launched into her topic. Where she used to be capable of droning on for hours about how wonderful Finn was, it seemed that gift had now been transferred to her work. Which was where it belonged, really, if she planned to stay in this business. An actor couldn't afford _not_ to love his work. If this was what she wanted, she needed to be dedicated to it one hundred percent. "Very avant-garde. It's a period piece set over a hundred years ago, but the characters get to express themselves through rock music. _So_ meta." She grinned and squeezed her hands together, bouncing slightly on her toes. "Michael calls the choreography a new…a new form of communication between the actors and the audience. It's based on interpretive dance, and it's so beautiful! My first number, I'm on stage by myself and it's like I'm looking in a mirror at myself. I knew what he meant the minute the choreographer started explaining it to me."

"It's based on an old play," Jesse added, "and all the objectionable material was in the original, so it totally counts as art."

Rachel elbowed him lightly at the mention of 'objectionable material.' "It's lovely—so sad," she said, leaning slightly against his arm as if she didn't even realize what she was doing. Will caught it, though—and so did Finn, who narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists. "I get to die a tragic death; it's even better than Maria from West Side Story, who only threatens to die. I have a couple of amazing duets with Jesse and two beautiful solo numbers…it's everything I could ever hope for!"

"Of course they're amazing if we're the ones singing them," Jesse said dryly. "What else would you expect?"

"From us?" Rachel smiled at him, and it was a gesture dangerously close to the one she used to give him, back when they were officially dating. "Nothing but the best."

The easy way the two of them acted around each other—the casual touches and smiles—told Will in no uncertain terms what was happening. Finn maybe didn't have the whole story yet, but he was going to have to face facts soon. A long distance relationship—especially a teenage one—did not stand a chance against that kind of look. Rachel herself might not even realize it yet, but Will would bet his apartment that Jesse did.

"It sounds like a lot of fun, Rachel," he said, trying to sound soothing to mitigate her manic cheer. She was usually pretty oblivious to what went on around her, at least in his opinion, but today was worse than normal. He didn't begrudge her her happiness—this was a huge moment for her and she deserved her chance to bask. But she was definitely making Mercedes jealous while she waxed effusively about her success, and she definitely wasn't scoring any points with Finn as she hung all over Jesse. Her success was kind of rubbing him the wrong way, too—just a little bit—but he couldn't find it in him to be mad at her for that. He was her teacher. It wasn't her job to worry about his feelings. But it _was_ her job to worry about her friends' feelings, and she obviously wasn't.

"I can't wait for you to see it!" she said. "It's so special. We've got a really great cast, too." Her face clouded over momentarily. "Well, mostly."

"It's the same story everywhere," Jesse said, and Rachel didn't raise a fuss when he drew her under his arm comfortingly. He raised amused, challenging eyes to Finn, who—thankfully—did not protest, though he looked like he was about to implode. "The second-best is always jealous of the star."

"She's not very nice," Rachel allowed. "But it's nothing like I had to endure here at McKinley."

"Trouble with your new castmates, too?" Mercedes sneered. "What a surprise."

"I told you, it's inevitable," Jesse said, and there was a harder edge to his voice this time that made Will sit up and take notice. "Rachel has the only real female part of any substance in the play, and then she has a chorus of girls with very small parts who back her. There's one female character with more lines than the rest of them, and the actress who snagged the part is understandably bitter because she's not the lead. It's an inevitable problem. She's not as good as Rachel and she has to fight to be noticed." He leveled Mercedes with a long look. "It makes her bitter. Everyone else in the cast knows it—they've seen and witnessed it before, too. This isn't the first time Rach has had to deal with a jealous second-best, and it won't be the last."

"What about your understudy?" Will asked, trying to quickly change the subject. Finn might be holding in his anger, but he had no such trust in Mercedes. "Do you get along with her?"

Rachel shrugged noncommittally. "I don't actively dislike her. I'm the superior talent, though, and I have no plans to let her ever get on that stage."

Will had to hide a smile. Of course she didn't. But at eight shows a week, it wouldn't be long until Rachel was singing a different tune. She might still have plenty of energy during rehearsals, but she had no idea what performing for a real audience day in and day out was going to require.

"Will you stay for rehearsal, for old time's sake?" he offered, hoping they wouldn't accept. While he admired both Rachel and Jesse's talent—always had—he did not particularly want them sticking around today. Not with the bad feelings they'd stirred up in Mercedes and Finn.

"Can't, I'm afraid," Jesse said, to Will's relief. "We're going to swing by to see Rachel's dads quickly, but Michael wants us back in New York tonight." He paused, and his gaze flicked quickly to Finn. There was something mockingly conniving on his face that Will instantly did not trust. "But we had one other thing to show you, first. In case you were at all interested, we have proofs of some of the promotional material, too."

"That would be great," Will said, wondering what that look was all about. A few photos couldn't possibly cause that much trouble, could they?

And at first it looked like they wouldn't. They were cute pictures, to be sure, but there was nothing particularly spectacular about them. Rachel, Jesse, and an unknown boy who looked about their age were posed together in modern, casual clothing—jeans and corduroys—and they were all smiling for the camera. In one photo, Rachel stood in front of Jesse and he was holding her hands. What surprised Will more than anything else was the transformation on Jesse's face. He'd gone from a good-looking, arrogant kid who was able to feign innocence when it suited him, to looking like he actually _was_ an innocent boy. His smile was shy and kind, and it almost looked like he was halfway hiding his body behind Rachel. The fact that he was able to act so well in just a still photo was both surprising and quite…unsettling, Will thought. What else about Jesse St. James had he missed? This acting ability was almost uncanny.

In another photo obviously from the same shoot, Jesse had his arms around Rachel from behind her and the other boy was smiling, leaning against a wall just a step away from the couple. Rachel's hands covered Jesse's as if she was holding him to her, but it wasn't a passionate pose. They looked...comfortable. Peaceful. As if they could all three have been best friends.

But then Jesse turned to the next photo, and Will understood the look the older boy had given Finn.

It was artistic—that much was undeniable. It wasn't in bad taste; wasn't in any way inappropriate. But the black and white photo was clearly a posed couple shot, and the third wheel was nowhere to be found. Jesse looked like himself once again—firm and in control, all hints of that strangely shy smile now gone. He was holding Rachel, his hands firm around her waist, and she arched into him in the perfect pose of a lover. Her mouth was slightly open and hovered near his, and his eyes were closed, his face somehow both intense and serene at the same time. She was dressed in what Will could only assume was an attempt at period underwear, though it certainly appealed to the modern eye as well. The play of stark shadow across the black and white photo was beautiful in its sharp simplicity.

"Oh," Tina breathed as they huddled over the photo. "Oh, that's beautiful."

"Rachel," Finn said tightly, "you agreed to this?"

"Of course." She frowned, looking confused at his anger. "Why wouldn't I?"

"You barely let me touch you like that, and now you're suddenly okay with people taking pictures of it?"

"It's _acting_, Finn," she protested. "It's not real. You of all people should know. I called you after this photo shoot and told you all about it."

"You didn't tell me he had his hands all over you!"

"His _character_ has his hands all over my character," Rachel corrected. "It's part of the business. I thought you understood that." She cocked her head to the side. "You didn't have anything to say about it when we did Rocky Horror. You were only concerned with having to perform in your underwear. Not about me and mine."

"But - "

Will saw the wheels turning inside Finn's head. Unfortunately, Rachel was right. If he was going to try to see this relationship through, he had to accept the fact that other men were going to be touching her. Rachel Berry was not the kind of girl to accept bit parts, and leading ladies were usually romantic roles. Finn was going to have to accept that. And Will thought that, at least intellectually, the tall boy probably did. But this wasn't a hypothetical event sometime in the future anymore. Neither was her leading man a stranger Finn could think of professionally. This was Jesse—the boy who always had been Finn's foremost rival. Now, as part of his job, Jesse had to touch Rachel. Will didn't know what kind of contact might be called for in the script—though Jesse _had_ mentioned that it was at least somewhat risque—but if they were playing love interests as it seemed, then there was probably at least a little embracing and kissing.

Even seasoned actors sometimes had difficulty separating the fiction of the stage from the reality of life, engaging in affairs with their co-stars. What would that mean for these kids, so new to this world? He doubted Rachel and Finn would last much longer, no matter how professional Rachel thought she was capable of being. Jesse meant business. Every line of his face as he watched Finn stare at that photo made it abundantly clear. He was playing dirty and he aimed to win. Will now knew that he had been foolish to think Jesse had given up after their disastrous trip to New York. Jesse hadn't conceded at all. He was just playing a much bigger game than Will had previously realized. Finn was still on Chutes and Ladders, and Jesse was a chess master.

Rachel was the pawn they were both fighting for, but Will didn't think she realized it.

"Are there more?" Tina asked eagerly. "It's so pretty."

Puck met Will's eyes and then glanced at Finn, and the implication was obvious. But before Will could step in and stop the photo show, Tina and Jesse had turned the page.

"Oh, wow," Kurt said. He sounded both horrified and in awe at the same time.

Will felt about the same. The picture wasn't really _that_ bad, if he was honest with himself. But he knew these kids and specifically he knew that Rachel was underage, and this photo tread pretty close to the place he drew the line when it came to things like that. Rachel was his student. Seeing her posed for a provocative—albeit fairly innocuous—photo made him decidedly uncomfortable.

This was obviously from the same photo shoot, and it was also in black and white. Rachel and Jesse wore the same costumes as in the first photo, with one major difference. The front of her dress had been unbuttoned—and not just one or two buttons, but all the way down to what looked like the juncture of her ribs. The flaps of fabric were positioned in such a way that her breasts were fully covered, but the implication was quite clear nonetheless. She leaned back on an elbow, the other hand fisted in the fabric of Jesse's shirt, and the expression on her face could only be described as come-hither. Jesse, for his part, looked like he meant business. His face was firm, and his arm not only encircled her, but his hand gripped her side, close to her breast.

Will looked away quickly, both uncomfortable with the photo and worried about Finn. The football player's eyes were tight, his mouth drawn up with displeasure. "You didn't," he insisted, "tell me about this."

"I did so," Rachel said calmly, snatching the photos back, much to Will's relief. "You just weren't listening."

"I try!" Finn exploded. "But you drone on and on about the most boring stuff, and how was I supposed to know there was something important buried in one of your monologues?"

"Those were some hot photos," Puck said. Will raised an eyebrow. Apparently the kid's concern for his best friend was now over. "What kind of play is this, anyway? I don't remember anything like that in the Broadway catalogue."

"That's because our musical is _groundbreaking_," Rachel said, tucking the photos back into the big envelope.

"If by groundbreaking you mean slutty," Finn muttered, but the comment was loud enough that Will knew everyone was meant to hear.

Rachel whirled, her body tense, but to Will's surprise it was Jesse who put a hand on her shoulder, restraining the slap that Will suspected was coming.

"Let's go, Rach," Jesse said, and the mocking lilt was gone from his voice. For once, he seemed completely serious. "It's not worth it."

"I overlook a lot." There was anger in her voice, but Will thought he could hear a hint of sadness, too. Was she perhaps realizing now how futile this attempt to keep Finn was? Did she see how they had already started to grow apart, despite her insistence on maintaining a relationship? "But you can't go around insulting my work—my _life__—_like that. If that's the way you feel about it, you don't have to come see it."

"Come on, Rach," Jesse said, pulling gently on her shoulder. "We need to get going anyway if we're going to have time to see your dads."

"This was supposed to be a happy visit," Rachel said. She stared at Finn for a long minute more, and it was Finn who finally dropped his eyes. "Whatever." She cleared her throat and shook her shoulders back, visibly recomposing herself. "I'm over it. I know what this musical is, and how much it means to me. To us," she corrected, throwing Jesse a grateful smile. He smiled back, and just like that, the mood between them lightened as if the little flareup with Finn had never happened. Finn was still close to losing his temper and Mercedes didn't look much better, but Rachel and Jesse, at least, were fine. "Thanks for your time, Mr. Schue."

"You know we're always here for you, Rachel," Will said, trying to infuse his voice with warmth he didn't feel. He still thought that letting his kids get a look at a professional workshop was a good idea—invaluable, really—but he couldn't help but feel a little trepidation at the thought of what lay ahead.

* * *

><p>A week and a half later, permission slips signed and invitations in hand, the McKinley High glee club loitered uneasily on the sidewalk outside a theater in New York. It was afternoon and not a matinee day, so relatively few people were milling around most of the theaters.<p>

The one exception, to Will's surprise, was the one he and his kids had been directed to. A sizable crowd stood outside the theater—mostly young people, but there was a fair mix of ages in the group. Will didn't quite know what to do. It was much too large a group to realistically be waiting for the workshop that day—no director in his right mind would let that many people in to watch an unpolished performance. But the invitations Rachel had given the group didn't give any clear directions—only the name and address of the theater, and the time to show up.

"Mr. Schuester!" a male voice called. "Mr. Schuester!"

Will turned, and he smiled with relief as he saw Hiram and Leroy Berry making their way through the crowd toward him. He signaled to his kids and they trooped toward the two men. He was only vaguely familiar with Rachel's fathers, having met them a handful of times for parent-teacher conferences, but any familiar face was a welcome sight in this city. "Mr. Berry," he said, taking the hand Hiram thrust at him. Rachel's biological father was short and delicately-built, like his daughter, and while she got her wicked talent and drive from Shelby, she got her boundless enthusiasm from Hiram. He bounced a little on the balls of his feet, the ends of his wool coat dangling open in front of him, and the same sparkle of excitement lit his dark eyes as Rachel often wore.

"Rachel sent us to find you," Leroy explained, glancing around at the crowd. He stood behind his partner and did not move to shake Will's hand. It looked like the crowd made him nervous, though this was nothing by New York standards. "She wanted to come herself, but this crowd gets a little rowdy if she or Jesse show their faces." He rolled his eyes, looking less than pleased with the state of affairs. "Do you know one kid actually proposed to her the other day? Just some random kid off the street—never seen him before in her life. Michael's been letting a very limited number of walk-ins come watch the workshops each day, which is why the crowd has gathered. Word spread like wildfire, and these people just mill around until someone comes out, picks a few random luckies out of the crowd, and tells the rest to go home. It's insane. Michael says he's never seen word spread about a new show like this. Online ticket sales are through the roof. He's confident that they'll be a critical success, but he's a little worried that the show won't live up to the popular hype it's been getting."

As they spoke, the Berry men led Will and his kids around to the stage door, where a stagehand was waiting to let them back in. Will breathed a sigh of relief as he shepherded his motley crew inside, counting to make sure no one had given him the slip. But they all seemed genuinely curious to see what all the fuss was about—or to see Rachel spectacularly fail, as he knew one or two of them were hoping.

Things with Mercedes hadn't really improved much, particularly whenever Rachel's name came up. She wanted to just step into Rachel's vacated spot in the group, but what Mercedes didn't understand was that group dynamics changed as people came and went. Rachel made her niche in the group, as did everyone else, and it was impossible for Mercedes to fill a Rachel-shaped hole. Kurt and Blaine had ended up emerging not only as the glee club's new power couple, but as their featured soloists. Mercedes wasn't happy about it, but Will was done trying to cater to his students' inflated egos. She needed a reality check, and he was giving it to her. He doubted that seeing Rachel perform on a real New York stage would be pleasant, but he hoped it would be a learning experience. Rachel wasn't easy to get along with and she caused her share of drama, but she had never—never—behaved as poorly as Mercedes was this year.

Finn did end up coming with them, though Will hadn't honestly known if he would until they all showed up at the airport. Apparently he and Rachel had patched things up—as much as possible with a long-distance relationship—and were still attempting to make a go of things as a couple. Whether that would withstand the performance today, Will couldn't say. Not without knowing a little more about the play, which he honestly still hadn't read. Too much work and not enough time in the day.

"Are you the group from McKinley?" A harried-looking man with curly, flyaway hair and thick glasses hurried up to them. "I'm Michael Mayer, the director."

"Will Schuester." Will shook the man's outstretched hand. "It's an honor. We're incredibly proud of Rachel—Jesse, too."

The man waved Will's comments aside. "You think Jesse's a pain in the ass, and he is. But the kid's a gem—too talented for his own good. He's going far, and we put up with him because someday we'll be able to say that we knew him when. Am I right?"

Will conceded the fact with a smile. He liked people who told things like they were, and he had a feeling he was going to like this director quite a bit. He seemed almost ADHD with his constant shifting, never holding completely still. Will suspected the outward tic reflected the state of his inner mind—constantly thinking about twelve things at once, mulling over ways to make his production the best it could possibly be.

"Let's get you all settled—did you bring your permission slips? I just want to cover my bases since I know some of your kids have to be under eighteen. The mob that gathers out there, I don't bother asking. But with a real group like yours, I just want to be sure."

"Is the material really that offensive?" Will asked as he handed the slips over and the director motioned them down a white hallway. The members of his club were currently eying the backstage area as if it was a letdown, and Will supposed it might feel that way. Everything was stark white and very plain—it looked like any hallway in any building anywhere.

"It's not offensive at all," Michael said with a negligent wave of his fingers. "It's beautiful and raw and very honest. But...it's best just to be sure," he repeated.

Leroy Berry, at the front of the line, opened the door at the end of the hallway, and the group filed out into the theater. It was smallish by Broadway standards, though still impressive to Will's kids—and Will himself, if he was truthful.

"You can sit anywhere," Michael said, motioning to the mostly-empty theater. "Including those risers on the stage. There will be audience members in those seats when we open and it wouldn't be a bad idea for my kids to get used to having people there. Be warned if you sit stage left that you'll have a very clear view of St. James' unclothed ass at the end of Act One."

Santana immediately turned to head toward those seats, but Will stopped her. "We're staying together as a group," he said firmly, and she rolled her eyes but complied.

"We'll stay with you, too," Hiram said, choosing the row just behind Michael's seat and shuffling down toward the middle of the theater. "We've seen two workshops prior to this one—bless you, Michael, for letting us invade your show so often—and we can tell you when it's time to look away."

Will was starting to feel less and less like this was a good idea, what with Michael and Hiram's cryptic comments. His students settled in a group around him and the Berry men, and Michael stood in front of them.

"Okay, it looks like we're all settled and it's almost time," Michael said into a walkie-talkie. "Go ahead and let ten people in from the crowd. They have to sit well back, though; I don't want them disturbing me. I want to try to talk to my high school group as we go, and I don't want distractions."

"Copy that," a static-filled voice replied, and Will was reminded of Sue's minion Becky back at home.

"Well," Michael said, dropping the walkie-talkie and addressing the glee club, "welcome. I've had a wonderful time talking to the two Misters Berry during previous workshops, and I'm hoping I can enlighten your group a little bit while you're here. If you have questions, save them for the end of the performance and I'll do my best to answer them. Let me give you a little background before we begin." He paused and glanced at the stage behind him, almost as if he expected to see something. "Rachel, I know you're there. You can come say hello if you want, but then get your ass backstage where it belongs!"

From out of nowhere Will could see, Rachel suddenly appeared. She was as bouncy as her director—worse, even—and she tackled her fathers, hugging each of them tightly.

"Have a good performance, sweet pea," Leroy said, giving her a deft squeeze.

"Break a leg, honey," Hiram added. "Now go on—we'll talk later."

Rachel waved at the members of her former glee club, but she didn't attempt to talk. Whether she was just too excited or she took Michael's directive to keep things short seriously, Will didn't know. She was already in makeup, and her long, dark hair had been styled into fat curls and then pinned back, away from her face. She wore a white robe with black hose underneath—Will would assume that the rest of her costume lay under the robe, but wasn't this supposed to be a period piece? That meant long skirts, and he didn't see a dress peeping out below the hem of the robe.

"Skedaddle, kiddo," Michael said, and Rachel actually listened. Will raised his eyebrows appreciatively. He wondered if the director would share his secret for handling the girl and getting her to listen. He sure could use that sort of authority with Mercedes, because he hated yelling. It just wasn't his style, and it ruined any sort of good feelings between himself and the kid in question.

"Okay." Michael folded his arms and surveyed the McKinley group. "For starters, this musical is based on a play by the same name that was written in 1891 in Germany and then promptly banned in just about every language it was ever published in. The issue has always been content, but it's a beautiful story and it deserves to be told. For our updated version, we've decided to keep it a period piece. The storyline just won't work in modern times, and you'll see why during the very first scene. But just because it's a period piece doesn't mean it's not accessible to today's youth. The characters—most of whom are adolescents, just like you—express their inner thoughts and desires through modern rock music. It's a bold move, but I think it's the right one."

"A period piece, huh?" Puck's eyes began to glaze over, boredom readily apparent. "You mean, like flouncy dresses and everything?"

"Rachel told you as much the last time she came to see us," Will reminded him gently.

"Well, I remember the pictures." Puck whistled in appreciation at the memory.

"_Noah_." To Will's surprise, the warning came from Leroy Berry. To his further surprise, Puck actually seemed to listen. Although, now that he thought about it, it _shouldn't_ seem all that strange. The Jewish population around Lima wasn't large, and Puck probably attended the same synagogue that Rachel's fathers did. For all Will knew, they could have known him practically from birth.

"That's my kid you're whistling at," Hiram added. "Behave yourself."

The director looked amused, which relieved Will. He didn't want his kids' childish squabbling to upset the guy who was, essentially, Rachel's boss. But he seemed on good terms with her dads and at least so far he hadn't ordered the little whispers and giggles from the glee club to stop, so Will hoped they might get through this learning experience with a minimum of upset.

"Could you tell us a little bit about the plot?" Will suggested, hoping to derail any more discussion about Puck's complaints.

"It's a period piece, as I said," Michael said willingly. "Set in Germany in the 1890's. The central idea is that, in this particular place and time, people didn't talk about uncomfortable topics and children grew up with very little information about some very fundamental truths. For the kids in this play, that lack of information leads to disastrous consequences."

"Rachel mentioned it was a tragedy," Tina said, and Will was proud of her for speaking up. Despite the fact that she had dropped her stutter, she was still nervous speaking in front of people sometimes. "She said she dies?"

"Rachel's character does die, yes," Michael confirmed. "So does another character, but I don't want to give away too much of the actual plotline. The writers took a very dark, very bleak story and really worked to humanize it. There's a great deal of humor, particularly in Act One, though that does peter out the further into the play we get. We all agreed that we wanted as much balance as possible between the lighter moments and the heavier material."

"There's definitely heavy material in there," Hiram agreed, glancing at Will. "Not just death, though most would agree that that's a pretty big one."

"What else?" Artie asked from his spot on the aisle.

"Well," Hiram said as Michael turned back to his crackling walkie-talkie, "there's not just death, but suicide in one case. While it doesn't happen on screen, there's talk of child abuse and non-consensual incest. I think maybe in my personal opinion, the darkest material isn't so easily named. It's...it's the way the adults treat the children—punishing them for being human, or for things they never did in the first place. Demanding perfection and turning their backs when it doesn't happen. It's realistic then and now, and it's very disheartening."

"Rachel doesn't commit suicide, does she?" Finn asked suspiciously.

"No." Hiram looked at his daughter's boyfriend oddly, and Will didn't know why but he thought he had a good guess. Finn ought to know this already. If he'd been paying any attention to Rachel during the past few months, he would already know the plot of this play backward and forward. "And it's not her, son. It's her character. That's one piece of advice I'll give all of you, but especially Finn. That's not Rachel on stage, it's her character. Remembering that makes watching some of the more uncomfortable scenes easier."

"No, it doesn't," Leroy muttered.

Hiram smiled indulgently and rubbed his partner's shoulder. "Leroy leaves the theater during the hayloft scene—he says it's something he just really can't watch. Although you made it through the beating scene last time, and you didn't think you were going to be able to handle that one. I think you'd be okay if you just tried."

"No." Leroy stared straight ahead at the empty stage. "There are some things a father just doesn't need to see. I think she's very brave for doing this, and I'd never dream of telling her she couldn't. But that doesn't mean I want to watch that particular scene."

Will had no idea what the two men were talking about, and for the first time he really wished he'd found a minute to at least skim through the original play. Beating? Really? And what was this about a hayloft? He didn't know, and he really wished he did.

"Any more last-minute questions?" Michael asked, dropping his walkie-talkie and clicking it off. He glanced at the fans seated well back in the theater, raising an eyebrow as if daring them to make a noise during the workshop.

But no one from McKinley had any questions, it seemed, and Michael dropped into his chair. Will could see from his seat that the director's leg kept bouncing even as he sat.

The house lights dropped, but the stage remained dark. Will leaned back, his heart beginning to pound with the excitement of the theater. He wasn't onstage or waiting in the wings, but even in the audience there was this perfect kind of waiting hush that settled over him—almost like the feeling of hovering just at the top of a roller coaster, waiting for the car to tip over the edge. It was a beautiful moment, sitting in the dark, waiting for an experience to begin. If it was good, a play had the power to change him in fundamental ways he wasn't even sure he understood. He had no idea what to expect from this workshop, but Rachel was so excited that he genuinely hoped it was something positive.

Music started—a violin. Aching, yearning notes were pulled from the instrument while the house and stage remained dark. A guitar joined the violin, and then the lights rose on Rachel, alone on stage, standing on a chair.

Now he understood what she meant about the choreography being derived from interpretive dance. Instantly he knew from the way she moved her hands and stared intently off into the audience that she was supposed to be looking in a mirror. She touched her face, rolled her head slowly on her neck, and it was such a...such a sensual act. Every little movement drew the eye and held it; each time she shifted or so much as breathed, it clearly meant something. Will realized suddenly that he couldn't remember ever having seen Rachel _act_ before. Not on stage. You could probably argue that a great deal of her bravado and posturing in day-to-day life was a form of acting, but it wasn't anything he could judge or quantify. This, though—this was raw and believable, and he immediately found himself warming to her character despite the fact that she had yet to speak a line.

Her voice was perfect, but then, it usually was. Though there was strength behind the projected notes, there was a tenderness and vulnerability both to the lyrics and to her voice that did not match up to his idea of Rachel as a person. This had to be the character, then.

The song was a lament—an interesting choice for opening a musical, Will thought. Rachel's character mourned the fact that her mother had given her no education—no "way to handle things," as she sang. The way she ran her hands slowly across her body, clad in what was obviously meant to be period underclothing, gave meaning to the ambiguous statement. So this was a coming of age story quite literally—a play about puberty and the trouble that went along with it. They were universal themes that transcended generations, and he suspected Michael had known that when he agreed to tackle the project.

Rachel's song ended and Will prepared to clap, but immediately a woman entered stage left, drawing his attention. "Wendla!" she called, and her voice was sharp.

"Mama!" The voice was gleeful—childlike. During the song Rachel had donned a little white dress, and now she stood on the chair and swirled the skirt idly around her legs.

"Look at you," the woman said, snappishness turning more toward horror. "In that...in that kindergarten dress! Wendla, grown up girls cannot be seen strutting about in such dresses."

Rachel hopped down from the chair and skittered lightly across the stage. "Let me wear this one, mama," she said, swirling the skirt more. Every motion made it clear to Will that she was meant to be playing someone at least a little younger than her actual age. "I love this one. It makes me feel like a little fairy queen."

"But you're already...in bloom."

It was clear that the actors had already had at least a little practice with an audience; they paused for the inevitable laughter after that line. Will watched the cheerleaders and Puck snicker, while Finn's jaw clenched. Mercedes was almost literally turning green with envy as she sat slumped in her seat, arms folded, glaring at the action unfolding in front of them. Will imagined it probably didn't feel very good to watch the girl she considered her rival suddenly receive this much attention. Mercedes wasn't interested in Broadway—Dreamgirls notwithstanding—but she _was_ interested in fame, and attention, and being on stage. She -

Suddenly Will stopped, tuning out the laughter from the crowd and momentarily ignoring the action on stage. Had he hit on something big? Mercedes had always craved the limelight...but so had Rachel and Kurt, the other "resident divas" of his original glee club. But he had always felt something...something slightly different with Mercedes, and he wondered if he had now finally hit on it. She wanted the fame and the accolade, but she had always balked at the kind of hard work Rachel put in—the constant rehearsals, the vocal and dance training. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure whether he'd ever heard her vocalize a fervent love of either the arts in general or even her particular brand of music. Enjoyment, certainly, but he knew that true artists needed more than a general or vague sort of enjoyment of their craft. Rachel _obsessed_ about her craft; he'd seen it with his own eyes since she was a sophomore. She had the intense need, not just to be a star, but to practice the arts that she loved. Even if she never received any recognition she would still do it, and Will understood why. She needed to. It was part of her nature. But Mercedes? Now that he thought about it, Will wasn't so sure.

"Shh," the woman on stage said, and she settled Rachel on her lap. "You've made me forget all our good news. Just imagine, Wendla. Last night the stork finally visited your sister, and brought her another little baby girl!"

"I can't wait to see her, mama," Rachel said, but she didn't sound nearly as thrilled as the actress playing her mother.

"Well, put on a proper dress and take a hat."

"Mama," Rachel said, sounding contemplative, "I'm an aunt for the second time now, and I still have no idea how it happens."

The audience snickered again, and Will realized at least one of the reasons why Michael said this play needed to be a period piece. Though Rachel was clearly playing a character slightly younger than herself, no teenager in this day and age was able to say something like that. Not truthfully, anyway.

"Mama, please. I'm ashamed to even ask," Rachel said, dropping her head. "But, then, who can I ask but you?"

"Wendla, child," the woman said, sounding horrified, "you cannot imagine that _I_ could tell you - "

"You can't imagine that I still believe in the stork!" Rachel had been displaced from her stage-mother's lap and she stood strong and adamant, a little of her native steel flickering into her limbs.

"I honestly don't know what I've done to deserve this kind of talk," the woman snapped. "And on a day like today—go, child, and put some clothes on."

"And if I were to go out now and ask Gregor, our chimney sweep?"

The woman turned, terror dripping from every line of her body. "Very well—I'll tell you everything." The audience laughed. "But not today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that."

"Today, mama!"

"Wendla Bergmann, I simply cannot!"

"Mama!"

"You'll drive me mad!"

"But why - "

The action paused for a moment and Will watched, rapt.

"I'll kneel at your feet," Rachel cajoled. "Put my head in your lap? You can talk as if I weren't even here. Please?"

"Very well," the older woman said finally. "I'll tell you."

Rachel led her back toward the chair she had been standing on at the beginning of the scene. The woman sat, and Rachel knelt beside her and threw her arms around her waist in a fervent hug. Her stage mother lifted the apron of her costume and draped it deliberately over Rachel, hiding her from the waist up. The small audience erupted with laughter, even Finn. Mercedes remained stoic.

"Yes?" Rachel prompted.

"Child, I - " The actress playing Rachel's mother made as if to get up, but she was held in place. She cleared her throat, shifting nervously.

"_Mama_."

The older woman visibly steeled herself. "In order for a woman to conceive a child—are you following?" She pulled the apron away to reveal a frown on Rachel's face.

"Yes, mama," the girl said impatiently.

Her stage-mother covered her up again. "In order for a woman to bear a child, she must...in her own personal way...she must...love her husband." A great deal of comical pantomime accompanied the rather dubious explanation of conception, and Will chuckled at the uncomfortable humor. "Love him..." the woman said, patting the apron-covered lump that was Rachel's shoulder. "And she can love only him—_only__him_." The amused male snort Will heard could only have come from Puck, he decided. "She must love with her whole...heart." Apparently having decided that that was more than enough explanation for one day, the older woman tossed the apron aside, exposing Rachel's utterly confused face. "There! Now you know everything."

"Everything?" Rachel asked dubiously.

"Everything," the older actress promised. "So help me."

"Mama!" The protest was drowned out by loud drumming, which drew Will's attention to the rest of the stage. He had been so focused on Rachel's performance that he hadn't even noticed the other girls entering the stage. They stood in the back—a row of four—and as they began to sing a faster-tempo reprise to Rachel's earlier lament, one handed her a microphone. She joined in on the next line, and it was clear to Will now what Jesse had meant about Rachel having a "chorus" of girls backing her.

"Why isn't Rachel dancing with the others?" Artie hissed—somewhat loudly—from his spot at the end of the row.

Dancing wasn't quite what Will would call it, but he understood the question. The other girls were moving in time to the beat of the music, much like the musicians behind them. In particular, the girl stage left wearing what looked like pantaloons almost seemed to be having a seizure, she was gesticulating so hard. In contrast, Rachel stood..not still, exactly, but she wasn't moving rhythmically to the music.

"She doesn't need to," Will hissed back, knowing Michael could probably hear him and hoping the director didn't mind. "She has...a presence about her on the stage. She doesn't need to move like that to draw the eye."

"Exactly," Michael added, turning around and flashing Will an approving smile. "She's the star, and she doesn't need to fight on stage to be noticed." He turned back to the small desk in front of him and activated his microphone. "Ilse!" he snapped, and his voice echoed even over the volume of the musicians and the singers. "Tone it down—this isn't Beyonce!"

The other performers didn't skip a beat as their director yelled at them, but Will saw the wildly-moving girl scowl furiously. She stopped gyrating quite so fervently for a few beats, but it picked back up again. Will saw Michael shake his head as Hiram turned to whisper. "The girl playing Ilse is the only other female in the cast with much of a role," he said to Will. "It's no secret she wanted Rachel's part, and she's been trouble for the whole cast because of it. Rachel refuses to give us the horror stories."

Leroy's shoulders moved as he chuckled, and he turned to add, "Lucky for us, Jesse has no such compunctions."

Will hid a smile at that and turned his attention back to the action just in time to see a group of boys troop onto the stage, holding chairs and armloads of books. They sat down and the girls finished their number, leading into a smooth transition between scenes.

Even so, as Rachel and her chorus brought their arms down with the final loud drumbeat, the sparse crowd in the theater broke into applause. Will saw her break character for just a fraction of a second, a smile fighting to slide onto her face. Yes, she knew she'd done well. She had every right to be pleased with her performance so far. The girls left the stage and the boys immediately started reciting what was clearly a school lesson in Latin.

Will wanted a moment to think about Rachel's performance, but he was immediately drawn to the figure of Jesse, front and center. The cocky, self-assured boy who wore hip—mostly black—clothing looked very different in short trousers and a tie. It would almost be comical, Will thought, except that Jesse looked _so_ different. Rachel was still very much Rachel on stage—perhaps because the childish dress wasn't altogether dissimilar to the sorts of things she sometimes wore to school. Her acting ability notwithstanding, he looked at her and he could still see _Rachel_. But Jesse—Jesse was almost hidden inside the restrictive nature of his costume. He wasn't himself at all.

The scene unfolded slowly—the boys continued reciting in Latin, one by one, until they reached the boy stage left, next to Jesse. He had appeared to be dozing in his seat and, as Will feared, he could not accurately answer when prompted by the strict teacher. It was something of a surprise when Jesse stepped in as the teacher began to harangue the other boy, standing up for him and receiving two whacks to the gut with a cane that looked and sounded like they actually hurt.

"I never get tired of seeing that," Leroy snickered.

"If only it did any good," Michael whispered back. "I'd start carrying one myself."

Jesse's song about wanting something more out of life was practically a requirement after the exchange between his teacher and himself. When it was over, the lesson moved onto writing rather than reciting, and the children had a chance to talk.

"Thank you," the other boy stage-whispered, leaning over to Jesse.

"It's nothing," Jesse replied. He was so...so fervent as he acted. Even a whisper wasn't just a whisper. It was strength and determination—it showed the steel will of both Jesse and his character.

"No," the other boy insisted. It was already abundantly clear that he—Moritz was the character's name—was meant to be played for laughs, at least right now, aside Jesse's straight man.

"Think what Aeneas suffered."

"I should have known it!" Moritz protested. He leveled a look at Jesse that drew a laugh from the crowd. "It's just...I didn't sleep. All night. In fact, I suffered a visit from the most horrific dark phantasm!" More laughter.

"You mean a dream?"

"A nightmare—really! Legs in sky blue stockings climbing over the lecture podium!"

"Oh. _That_ kind of dream." Jesse went back to his writing, and Will heard loud guffaws from Puck and Artie.

"Have you ever suffered such mortifying visions?" the other boy demanded, his voice rising. Remembering where they were supposed to be, Will looked for the teacher to reappear at any moment.

"Moritz, of course. We all have. Otto Lammermeier dreamt about his mother."

"Really?" Moritz demanded of the boy behind Jesse.

"Georg dreamt he was seduced by his piano teacher!"

"Fraulein Grossenbustenhalter?" Moritz's voice rose even further.

"Watch out," Hiram said to Will, turning in his seat again. "This is where the 'objectionable material' starts." He made air quotes around the words. "Your boys will probably adore this next song."

True to Will's prediction, the teacher came back that instant and grabbed Moritz by the ear. "Moritz Stiefel!" he hollered as the boy grimaced and winced. "I need hardly remind you that of all our pupils, you are in no position to be taking liberties. I will not warn you again!"

As the first verse of Moritz's song began, Will wasn't entirely sure he really was hearing what he thought he heard. It started out as a song about yearning...about puberty and growing up and feeling those inexplicable feelings...

"Holy shit," Puck said. "They're singing about jacking off."

"That's totally hot," Santana agreed.

The song prepared Will, somewhat, for the conversation that followed, where Jesse's character agreed to teach Moritz about sex by writing an essay—complete with illustrations—for him. Apparently Jesse's character's parents were somewhat more lax than Rachel's stage-mother when it came to sex ed, because he claimed to have gleaned plenty of knowledge from books—presumably books found around the house or in the schoolroom. The teachers' threat to force Moritz out of school because they felt he was a sub-par student was not terribly surprising. In a story full of teen angst, both teachers and parents were suspect, after all.

The girls returned to the stage—minus the gyrating one in pantaloons—for some much-needed lightening of subject matter. They prattled happily about an upcoming wedding, and all professed their undying devotion to Jesse's character, who just happened to be the "best at everything," according to one of the other girls, while still managing to be a bad boy—in this case by being a professed atheist.

The next song started out innocent enough, with the girls singing wistfully about what it was like to yearn after oblivious boys. But all too soon an interlude popped up, during which one of the boys from the previous scene sat himself down in a nightgown in the middle of the stage and proceeded to—there was really no delicate way to put this, Will thought—jerk off to what was clearly a salacious photograph. In the corner, another boy fantasized about his piano teacher tearing open her bodice and rubbing her breasts in his face.

The boys from McKinley were clearly eating this up, and even his girls were laughing, but Will was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Why hadn't he made the time to read the original play? It was beginning to seem more and more like he had no idea what he was getting himself into. Thank god for those permission slips, he thought. The director had saved his ass, because the minute his kids got home, they were going to start blabbing about the play their teacher had taken them to see, and how it was chock-full of sex.

The next scene was also full of sexual humor, as Moritz and Jesse's character discussed the essay, ending in another song as Jesse attempted to explain how he imagined what sex must be like from the woman's perspective. Though he started the song on his own, it turned into a group number Will actually found himself enjoying a great deal. It was moving, as the children attempted to express a yearning for contact that the adults denied them.

The song flowed quickly into the next scene, which was where Jesse's character encountered Rachel's for the first time. Will had been waiting for this—after seeing those photographs Jesse had showed them back in Ohio, he knew it had to be coming. It was a chance encounter in the woods, and though the whole thing remained entirely innocent, Will could see the tension between the two. How much of it was acting and how much of it was just Jesse and Rachel, he couldn't say. She was hesitant—dubious of his advances, though he suggested nothing untoward. It was a simple scene, wonderfully played, and their first duet was both sweet and slightly ominous, as it spoke of heartache yet to come. Will looked cautiously at Finn, attempting to gauge the football player's reaction to seeing Rachel on stage with Jesse. Jesse did touch her and they danced a little, but it was perfectly innocuous. Finn's jaw was tight and he stared straight ahead, looking anything but pleased, but he did not protest or give any other sign of distress.

"This is about as much as Leroy's comfortable watching," Hiram whispered, turning to Will. He rubbed his partner's shoulder affectionately. "When things get more intense, he doesn't like it."

"That's my little girl up there," Leroy said stonily.

"It's her _character_," Hiram argued, and from the tone of their voices Will could easily tell that this was a long-standing argument. Gay or straight, some things about relationships were universal.

It was amazing how Rachel and Jesse were able to put so much meaning into the smallest touches and gestures. When Jesse first slid his hand forward and captured Rachel's, Will _felt_ it. He was an actor himself—or at least would like to think of himself as one—and he _knew_ the craft. But knowing what was happening didn't make him feel it any less. Jesse was gripping her hand tightly, and she held back just as hard. He twirled her once—slow, almost dreamlike—and slipped his arms around her from behind, and Will had to wonder if the proprietary way he ran his hands over her blue dress had anything to do with certain members of the current audience. Or was it always like that—was that simply the nature of the beast when Jesse was with Rachel, regardless of characters or audience?

He didn't have long to ponder as they left the stage hand in hand only to be replaced by Moritz and the other boys. He was ecstatic at passing a midterm exam, and it was made known that now everything rested on a final grade. The teachers returned to skulk ominously in the background, reminding the audience that no matter how happy the boy was now, he was never going to be allowed to pass. What would happen then, Will didn't entirely know. Suicide had been mentioned, and he had a sinking feeling he now knew who it was going to be.

Rachel returned with her "chorus" of girls and another solemn scene began. One of the other girls admitted to her friends that her father beat her and her mother did nothing to stop it. She sang a heartfelt song that the attention-grabbing girl (Ilse, he reminded himself—Michael had called her Ilse) joined her on in a duet. He supposed that meant this was an admission they both shared—not just the beating the girl had confessed to her friends, but the implication of unwanted sexual advances by their fathers as well. Will looked carefully up and down his crowd of students, but no one was laughing now. He still felt that the actress playing Ilse was overacting—and by his comments, Michael did, too. But the net result was touching enough.

The next scene was the inevitable showdown between Moritz and his teachers, which only added to the somber mood. Will was relieved, then, to see Rachel enter the stage and find Jesse sitting with his prop journal stage right.

"Hold on," Hiram said, squeezing Leroy's shoulder. "You're strong. You can get through this."

"I did it once," Leroy grunted. "Do I really have to do it again?"

"Do it for Rachel," Hiram urged. "She wants you here."

"This is the scene we've been having the most trouble with, out of all the romantic scenes," Michael said, turning to lecture the McKinley group. "Rachel's golden, but this is the only place I've ever seen Jesse hesitate. He _hates_ this scene—he doesn't want to do it, and it ends up looking so fake that it gets cringe-worthy at times. I need to find a way to break his wall—to get him to a place where he's okay doing this to her."

"Doing _what_ to her?" Finn growled, but to Will's relief, Michael had already turned back around. There were two scenes Hiram had mentioned that made Leroy distinctly uncomfortable, and if this was one of them, Will wanted to be as prepared as possible. Anything that made Leroy uncomfortable was likely to upset Finn, too.

"Melchior?"

"You." The emotion Jesse was able to put into that one word was nothing short of amazing. He rose to his feet, journal clasped in his hand.

"I was lying by the stream and then I saw you here." Rachel was hesitant, shifting slightly on her feet as she slowly approached Jesse.

"Yes."

"So..."

"So...the stream. Dreaming again?"

"I was, I guess," Rachel said, sounding shyer than Will had ever heard her before. The innocence of the character was certainly incongruous with Rachel's true personality, but he supposed that was the mark of the real actor—someone able to push his or her own boundaries and play a character truly different than themselves.

"What were you dreaming of?"

"It's silly." The way she said it made Will sit up and take notice. Something was happening—this wasn't just idle smalltalk.

"Tell me." The tone was light, but there was a commanding firmness below it.

"I dreamed I was a clumsy little girl and spilled my father's coffee. And when he saw what I'd done, he yanked out his belt and whipped me."

"Wendla!" Jesse's character clearly hadn't been expecting that. Will hadn't, either, though it made sense given Rachel's previous scene with the other girls. He looked at her dads out of the corner of his eye. In the darkened theater it was impossible to tell much, but he thought he could see a harder set to Leroy's shoulders. _Rachel_ hadn't dreamed such a thing—her character had. Still, he understood that it probably didn't feel very good to watch their daughter speak the words no matter how false they knew them to be.

"That kind of thing doesn't happen anymore. Only in stories," Jesse insisted, and it was such a ridiculously false line that Will had to hold back a dark bark of laughter. Of course child abuse still happened—it happened during the time period of the play and it still did now, in the present. Jesse's character was an idealist, as had been made perfectly clear in previous scenes. This only confirmed further that he lived very much in a sheltered world of his own making, one where some of the hard truths of the world had not yet penetrated. Will had no particular opinion about Jesse St. James one way or another, but he was kind of learning to like his character. He genuinely didn't want this disillusionment that was bound to happen to be a bad one.

"Martha Bessel is beaten nearly every evening!" Rachel shot back and, though she was shifting nervously from foot to foot, the desperate assurance in her voice that she was right and Jesse was wrong was _all_ Rachel. "The next day you can see the welts! It's terrible. Lately I can't think about anything else."

"Someone should file a complaint," Jesse insisted. The next obvious question didn't go asked anywhere except in Will's head—who would file a complaint against a father in that day and age? And who would they tell? It would make no difference to the child in question; she had no rights to speak of.

Rachel hesitated for half an instant before pushing the conversation in a slightly different direction. "You know, I've never been...beaten. Not once—I can't even imagine it. It must be just awful."

"I don't believe anyone's ever the better for it," Jesse said fiercely.

"I tried hitting myself to find out how it feels," Rachel admitted, the words both hesitant and fast, as if she was trying to get them out before she could rethink the idea. "Really. Inside." She paused. "With this switch, for example." Rachel reached down to pick up a stick Will hadn't even noticed lying on the stage. "It's tough and thin."

Jesse took it from her and gave an experimental swipe through the air that Will could hear clearly from his spot in the audience. "It'd draw blood."

"It would if you hit me with it."

Will's attention on the stage redoubled. _What_ was that he'd just heard? This couldn't be going in _that_ direction, could it? He wanted to glance at Finn, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the action unfolding on stage.

"Hit you!" Jesse snapped. He shifted, agitated now. It was clear the conversation was upsetting someone, but Will couldn't quite say whether it was Jesse or his character. Michael's words about Jesse's discomfort with this scene echoed in his ears. "Wendla, what are you thinking?"

"Nothing - "

He retreated a few steps and she followed, closing the distance between them to just an arm's length.

"I could never beat you!"

"But if I let you?"

"Never!"

" If I asked you to?"

"Have you lost your mind?" he yelled, far beyond the level of snapping by now.

"Martha Bessel, she - "

"Wendla, you can't envy someone being beaten!"

"But I've never been beaten! My entire life, I've never felt..."

"What?"

"Anything!" As the plea left Rachel's mouth, her hands rose and landed on Jesse's shoulders. He staggered back a pace as if struck, but she stepped with him, her hands sliding slightly down his chest as she gazed up at him beseechingly. "Please, Melchior?"

The silence was deafening as both Jesse and his character seemed to consider the proposition. He didn't want to do it—that was clear in every line of his body. The struggle within the boy on the stage was so strong that Will could feel it from his seat. Melchior didn't want to strike Wendla, but perhaps even more than that, Jesse didn't want to hit Rachel. Now Will understood exactly what Michael had been saying. Jesse was a wonderful actor. Even in still photos he was capable of becoming someone else. But when forced to not only confront Rachel but to strike her—even with her permission—he balked. Something in him just couldn't do it.

But the decision was taken out of his hands as Rachel stepped away from him, holding his eyes the entire time. Will thought he saw her head nodding slightly, conveying something private between the two of them—whether Melchior and Wendla or Jesse and Rachel, he really couldn't say. In this moment there was no difference between the two. Wendla was asking to be struck so she could finally feel _something_, even if it was pain. Rachel was asking for the same thing because the script called for it—because all she knew, all she wanted, was right here. Her future lay before her—dark theaters and bright spotlights, and she _needed_ Jesse to be able to do this in order to attain everything she'd ever wanted—everything she'd ever worked for. It was a crucial moment for all four entities—the young people on stage and the children they were playing.

Slowly Rachel turned, wringing her hands, and presented her backside to Jesse. She placed one foot in front of the other, bracing for the blow, and stood quiet and still.

After a moment where Will was pretty sure his heart stopped beating, Jesse moved. He stood behind and a little to the side of her, raised the stick up high, and brought it down on her ass with a light tap.

Several of his kids snickered, including Artie. Will wondered momentarily whether Michael would call Jesse on the ridiculous attempt at a switching, but then Rachel spoke.

"I don't feel it," she said stonily. Ah, Will thought, so the first strike was supposed to be funny.

"Maybe not, with your dress on."

"On my legs, then!" Rachel grabbed the back of her skirt and hiked it up, exposing the tops of her black stockings and a little bit of skin. She turned to face the audience, the front of her skirt dangling down and obscuring any sort of inappropriate view, which made Will breathe a sigh of relief.

"Wendla..."

"Come on!" she demanded before turning to look at him again. "_Please_." Oh, dear. Will's discomfort intensified about a thousandfold as she spoke that one word. That was the voice of a woman begging for sex, and it was coming out of his student. He looked worriedly at Finn, but the tall boy didn't seem to understand the low, intense plea as anything other than the surface request to be struck. He didn't look happy, but at least he didn't seem to understand. Will had no doubt that Rachel's fathers understood that voice, and it _had_ to be one of the things that made Leroy so uncomfortable with this scene.

It was clear to Will even without the pleading sex voice—though he didn't know if his students caught the analogy—that Rachel's character was really asking to be touched. Not beaten. She wanted to _feel_, and this was the only way her confused mind had come up with. The adults in the story were useless; they didn't give the children the information that was needed to properly deal with the urges of puberty. With absolutely no previous knowledge of the situation, it wasn't terribly surprising that she had chosen an intense experience that wasn't the one she was really wanting. But neither her character nor Jesse's seemed able to make that leap of intuition, and Will winced as he waited for the awful moment when Rachel's character would get what she asked for, even though it wasn't at all what she wanted.

Jesse nodded to himself a little bit, and he reached out to grab Rachel's arm above the elbow. "I'll teach you to say please." The words were low with a dark promise. He raised his hand and lowered it to strike.

Rachel cried out and winced away from the switch, though he held her arm in his other hand and did not let go. But...Michael had been right. It was a stage strike, and it didn't look real at all, despite Rachel's believable response. Michael shook his head slowly and reached for the button to activate his microphone.

"You're barely stroking me!" Rachel accused, turning her head to stare challengingly at Jesse. She was wonderful—fierce and bluffing, despite the lie her previous cry had given to her words.

"How's _that_ then?" Jesse demanded, striking again.

This time, Rachel didn't even pretend he'd hit her. Will could see from his seat that the stick hadn't even touched her. Despite the fact that they were in workshops and they had an audience, Rachel pulled her arm free of Jesse's grip, turned to face him, and shoved him.

Hard.

Will knew instantly from the way Michael's head snapped up and his hand hovered next to the mic switch that this was _not_ in the script. Jesse stood there, mouth slightly open, his arms hanging by his sides and the switch dangling from one loose fist.

"Pull it together, Jesse!" Rachel advanced and shoved him again. "It's not supposed to be funny—this is a serious scene! _Hit_me!"

"Oh. My. God." Artie's mouth was hanging open a little bit, too.

"That's _so_ hot," Puck murmured.

Will studiously tried not to look at Hiram and Leroy.

Rachel stood with her hands on her hips, a little ball of fury wrapped in a blue dress. "What are you afraid of?" she demanded. "Leaving a mark? Let me help you with that." Her hand whipped out before Will could blink, and the sound of her slap against Jesse's cheek echoed through the theater.

She didn't back down, either, and Will could do nothing but stare as something inside Jesse visibly snapped. He grabbed her left arm again, and this time when the switch came down, there was no mistaking the blow.

"Martha's father uses his belt!" Rachel taunted, instantly falling back into character, though it was clear she was still egging him on. "He draws blood, Melchi!"

"How's _that_ then?" The switch came down again. "How's _that_?" Again.

"Nothing!" Her voice gave lie to her words, as did the grimace of pain on her face and the way she shifted within Jesse's tight grip, dancing away from the stick. But she didn't back down, even as he dropped the switch and jerked her around to face him.

"You bitch!" he yelled, and Will supremely hoped that was actually in the script. Jesse was a volatile individual, and he didn't want to see what might happen if Rachel had pushed him too far. "I'll beat the hell out of you!"

They grappled for a moment, Rachel trying to get free as Jesse refused to let go. He shook her hard, and aimed something between a punch and a shove at her midsection before pushing her to the ground. She huddled in a ball, crying loudly, as dead silence settled over the rest of the theater. Jesse stared at her for a long second, looking horrified, before fleeing the stage.

The sobs sounded _so_ real. Will stared at the girl on stage, curled up in a little ball. Rachel was such a raw person, as he'd tried to explain to Shelby her sophomore year. There was a tenderness to her that Shelby lacked—she was still innocent, and she didn't have the emotional armor Shelby carried with ease. Rachel had asked to be beaten—both in real life and in the play. But Will couldn't sit there and fully believe that the tears weren't real. Wendla was crying after being given what she asked for, but so was Rachel. She'd goaded Jesse into playing the scene just as it should be played, and she'd pushed hard enough that he did it. But had she really realized what she was getting into? Will wasn't at all sure. She had meant it at the time, but what did she think now?

Slowly Rachel picked herself up as one of the boys belted a haunting reprise to her duet with Jesse. She hugged herself, shrinking smaller than she actually was. Spying the journal left abandoned stage right, she picked it up and took it with her as she left the stage.

Leroy Berry was still as a statue, tense and silent, and Will could almost feel the unhappy waves leaking off of him. Poor man. He probably hadn't been prepared for that outburst, only for the scene as it had been previously played.

"That took guts, kid," Michael called to Rachel's retreating back. "_Excellent_ job. Now Jesse knows he can do this, no matter how much he dislikes it. Don't make a habit of disrupting workshops, but good job with this one. Jesse—don't come back on stage, just listen. If you can harness that natural frustration every time you do that scene, you'll win a Tony for this part. Don't kid yourself—she's small, but she can take it."

"Fuck you!"

The holler from backstage was unmistakable. Will had to hide a smile as Michael chuckled—thankfully not into the microphone. There was no telling what Jesse might do if he knew his director was laughing at him.

"He'll calm down by his next scene," Michael said. "Nothing gets in the way of a performance—not with Jesse." He clicked the mic on again and cleared his throat. "Let's continue, people! We're not in rehearsals anymore!"

Moritz returned to the stage, along with the balding man apparently playing all the adult male parts. It was a sad scene, as the sweetly dopey boy was disowned for failing out of school, but after the raw emotional power of the last scene, Will felt almost numb to everything else. He watched, following the storyline but not really engaging, as the boy sang a song of desperation and the woman playing all the adult female roles read bits of a letter she'd written him, stating that she would not advance him the money to flee to America as he besought her to.

The hard-edged, rocking number flowed directly into something altogether different as the lights dimmed and cooled, the stage turning dark blue. The boys who had been backing Moritz for his number now affixed some straps and hooks to four different locations on the stage and stepped back as slower music replaced Moritz's desperate song.

Jesse returned to the stage, walking slowly into the middle of the box formed by the four hanging straps. He'd lost his jacket and tie, his sleeves were rolled up, and a few buttons at the top of his shirt were undone. With the addition of suspenders the whole outfit looked a little...Amish. The song was oddly touching—a yearning to understand this strange in-between place between childhood and adulthood, an acknowledgment of things both lost and found. Just as with Rachel's opening number, the choreography was weird, but it worked. Jesse traced a line slowly up the side of his body, drawing his hand over himself before making a fist, as if exploring the newness of a more adult body. The rectangle of stage floor caged by the four heavy straps slowly rose a couple of feet into the air while Jesse stood on it.

His song slowly drew toward its end, and Will's attention was pulled away from the action by Leroy Berry, who rose from his seat and, hunched over, swiftly left the theater. Will felt his own stomach clench at the thought of what was to come. Leroy had managed to sit through what he now knew was the "beating scene" Hiram had referred to, so that must mean the "hayloft" scene was next, whatever that meant. Will had no idea, but if Leroy could stand to watch his daughter beg a boy to beat her with a switch and he was now leaving, that meant this scene was going to be extremely uncomfortable to watch.

"So here you are." Rachel's voice suddenly sounded from offstage as the last notes of Jesse's song trickled away into nothing.

Jesse dropped like a stone, facing toward the side of the stage where Rachel's form was now illuminated. "Go away!" he ordered, but there was something raw and tremulous about the words. "Please."

Rachel didn't move. "There's a storm coming, you know. You can't sit sulking in some hayloft."

"_Out_."

"Everyone's at church rehearsing for our Michaelmas chorale. I slipped out."

"Yes. Well."

"Your friend Moritz Stiefel is absent. Someone said he's been missing all day."

"I expect he's had his fill of Michaelmas!" It was a dismissal if Will ever heard one, but still Rachel remained.

"Perhaps," she allowed, sounding more solemn. "You know, I have your journal."

Jesse lifted his head. "You do?"

"You left it the other day." Rachel stepped down from the risers on the side of the stage and stood next to the raised platform on which Jesse knelt. She held the book out to him in supplication, but he turned away. "I confess I tried reading part of it, but - "

"Just leave it," Jesse interrupted. "Please."

Rachel set the book down obediently, but instead of leaving, she hoisted herself up onto the raised platform with him. He shrank from her, turning even farther away. "Melchior, I'm sorry about what happened—truly, I am! I understand why you'd be angry at me—I don't know what I was thinking." The words were Wendla's, but Will heard Rachel's voice in them. She was apologizing on behalf of them both—apologizing for goading him, and for doing it in front of an audience. Not for the necessity of it—she wasn't claiming that she'd been wrong. But despite the fact that it had been necessary, she was sorry.

"Don't," Jesse said, and it was half a plea, half a demand.

"But how can I not - "

"Please, please don't." Jesse swallowed, staring hard into the darkness of the theater as Rachel plead with his back. "We were confused. We were both just - "

"But it was my fault," Rachel said, reaching for his arm. He whirled, catching her hand and pushing it aside.

"Wendla, please—no," he said, and their eyes met. In that moment, something...shifted. It wasn't anything Will could specifically place or quantify, but the tension in the room increased tenfold. "It was me," Jesse said softly, never breaking eye contact with her. "All me. Something in me started when I hit you."

"Something in me, too," Rachel insisted.

"But I hurt you!"

"Yes, but still."

Rachel's hand rose to touch his arm again, and once more he flinched from the contact, turning away from her and burying his head against his knee. "No more! God, no more! Just - " He swallowed, the sound audible in the otherwise silent theater. "Please. You should go."

But Rachel did not go—which was a very Rachel-like move. She reached forward one more time, and when her hand touched his arm he did not move away.

"Won't you come out to the meadow now, Melchior?" Her voice, fervent and strong just a moment ago, was now tremulous—the shyness creeping back in, though she did not retreat. "It's dark in here, and stuffy." She rubbed his arm gently with her hand. "We can run through the rain—get soaked to the skin and not even care."

With a suddenness that took Will by surprise, Jesse turned. They were on their knees facing each other, Jesse hovering over her slightly as he spoke with the incredible intensity Will knew he was capable of. "Forgive me," he insisted, and Will suspected that not many women would be able to withstand that voice.

Certainly neither Rachel nor her character could—or cared to. She shook her head and put her hands on his shoulders in a gesture that was probably meant to be comforting. "It was me," she said. "All me."

An instant later she had risen up fully on her knees, and she drew him against her in a hard, passionate embrace. He lay his head against her chest, holding her tightly as she cradled his head. They stayed that way for a beat longer than Will would have expected, though Michael said nothing about it. The momentary tableau was lovely, really, Will admitted. Jesse's face was buried against her breast, hidden by the crook of her arm, and her hands were almost maternal as they pressed him closer, gently touching his hair. Jesse wasn't nearly as tall or lanky as Finn, but his arms completely engulfed Rachel's body as he held her tightly.

Finally Jesse moved. He did not relinquish his hold on Rachel, but he lifted his head slightly. "I can hear your heartbeat, Wendla," he said wonderingly. He tipped his face up to hers as she looked down, and their eyes met again. Just as swiftly as he'd come into her arms, he pulled back slightly though neither one let go of the other.

"Melchior, I don't know - " she said, and there was a troubled sort of confusion in her voice.

But he ignored the question, instead pulling her to rest against his chest in a mirror image of their previous embrace. "Wherever I am," he said softly, "I hear it beating."

Rachel's body relaxed slightly. "And I hear yours."

Finn shifted abruptly in his seat, dragging Will's attention from the stage. Yes, he'd heard the same thing Finn did., and he didn't blame the boy for his anger. That last line hadn't been Wendla talking to Melchior—that had been Rachel talking to Jesse. Will had no doubt about it.

But Hiram either didn't seem to notice, or he was willing to lie to keep the peace. He turned in his seat and put a hand on Finn's hunched shoulder, where the boy sat almost doubled over in his chair. "Easy, son," Hiram said. "It's just acting. Didn't she tell you about this scene?"

Finn shrugged, which was about as unhelpful an answer as he could possibly give.

"You can always wait outside with Leroy. I text him when this scene is over so he knows it's safe to come back." Hiram smiled softly at his daughter's real-life boyfriend as she embraced the boy's rival on stage. "It gets a lot worse here on in—just warning you."

But Finn clenched his jaw and shook his head slowly, refusing to leave the theater. Whether he was torturing himself or gathering ammunition for a later fight with his girlfriend, Will didn't want to guess. He turned his attention back to the stage in time to see Jesse move Rachel slowly away from his chest, his hands shifting to hold her head and neck firmly as he swiftly lowered his mouth and kissed her hard.

Finn flinched visibly; Will saw it out of the corner of his eye. But his attention was riveted to the stage, where Rachel was fighting Jesse's advances. _That_ was something he hadn't expected. Her little sounds of protest made him extremely uncomfortable once again, and he was quite relieved when she managed to push Jesse away, holding him at arm's length.

"No, I can't!" she whimpered, sounding perilously close to tears. "We're not supposed to."

"What? Not supposed to _what_?" Jesse demanded, gripping her upper arms and refusing to let go. Will found it difficult to breathe. The tension from the two actors filled and overfilled the theater, sweeping across the audience with powerful strokes. Jesse's words weeks ago about the "objectionable material" in this show rang in Will's ears. "You name it, it's in there," Jesse had said. They'd already dealt with masturbation, child abuse in various forms, incest, and some would probably argue the beating scene hovered close to the line of sadomasochism. Were they going to add the 19th-century equivalent of date rape to the lineup?

"Love?" Jesse prompted, his eyes boring into Rachel's. The perfect, yearning pitch of his voice was spot-on. He might have had trouble with their previous scene together, but he was fine with this one. "I don't know, is there such a thing?" He released her arms and his entire demeanor abruptly gentled. His hand rose to cup her cheek, winding softly through the curled strands of her hair. "I hear your heart," he said, quieter but no less sure. "I feel you breathing. Everywhere."

Music started in the background—a guitar. Will breathed an inward sigh of relief. If they were going to duet again, they had to use their mouths for singing and not for kissing. That would make keeping Finn under control _much_ easier.

But just as he let the relief spread through him, the actors playing the other children, both boys and girls, reminded him of their presence to the side of the raised platform by shifting their bodies slightly as if in preparation for something.

"The rain," Jesse said. "The hay—please. Please, Wendla." And he kissed her again.

The chorus began to sing, which ruined Will's hope for a duet to calm Finn. Despite Jesse's pretty speech, Rachel pushed him away again. "No," she pleaded. "It's just—it's - "

"What?" Jesse demanded. "Sinful?"

"No, I - " Rachel was near tears—or her character was. It was impossible to tell at this point. "I don't know."

Jesse had her by the arms again, holding her so firmly that she was nearly bent slightly backward. "Because it's good?" he insisted, pushing again, though she'd clearly told him several times to stop. They were moving very quickly into extremely touchy territory, and Will suspected if the scene played out as he now thought it might—with "no" really meaning "yes"—then Michael was going to have some angry feminists complaining about his play once it opened.

"Because it makes us feel something?" Jesse's near-yell brought Will's entire attention back to the stage, and he wasn't entirely surprised when that final line did it.

This time, Rachel kissed him.

It was passionate; there was no doubt about that. Rachel held onto him tightly as he lay her on her back on the raised platform, hovering over her.

"Are they really going to..." Artie's voice trailed off.

Hiram's little nod was more answer than Will needed. Of course they were going to simulate a sexual encounter on stage. It made perfect sense now—what else could possibly make one of Rachel's fathers so uncomfortable that he had to leave the audience? Will wasn't at all sure _he_ could sit through this, if he was honest. Rachel was his student. They both had been for a short while, but Jesse was older and he hadn't been with New Directions very long, either as a student or a consultant. Rachel had been his student for more than two years. He'd watched her cry her eyes out at various times—often over Finn—and struggled with her demanding personality. He'd gone to a great deal of trouble to stop her silly schoolgirl crush on him her sophomore year, and had seen her flying high on the wings of triumph when New Directions won a competition.

But he honestly never thought he'd see her like this, and he wasn't at all sure he wanted to.

"Don't be scared," Jesse said softly. The line mocked Will. Rachel mightn't be scared—he couldn't say one way or another about her character—but Will certainly was. He was afraid that the "fade to black" wouldn't come fast enough for his own comfort level...or Finn's. He had no idea what the fallout of witnessing this scene might be for the young couple, but it was going to be bad. It couldn't possibly be otherwise—not while Finn was watching Jesse lay on top of _his_ girlfriend.

They kissed again, each touch hard and unyielding, verging on frantic. Jesse's hand found its way to Rachel's clothed breast, and her frightened cry rang out again. "No!" she said, pushing him away. "Don't! It - "

"What?" Jesse asked, his voice gentle though his hands weren't. He levered a measuring, waiting look at her.

Slowly—slower than they'd done anything in this scene—Rachel took his hand and returned it to her breast. She covered his hand with both of hers, pressing him against her as they looked at each other in a clear act of capitulation. It was a foregone conclusion now—they were going to do this. In Will's opinion, it was a perfect moment to fade to black, because there was no doubt about what was going to happen on that platform—in that hayloft—whatever.

But the stage did not darken, and the music did not cease. Jesse moved as Rachel's hands fell away from his, and he hastily unbuttoned her bodice. Her chest was heaving with deep, quick breaths as he revealed an old-fashioned undergarment below the blue dress. Will shifted in his seat, discomfort growing stronger and stronger as Jesse pulled a knot loose and yanked open the front of the garment, exposing Rachel's breasts to the entire audience.

Finn made a sound like someone just knocked the air out of him, and Will snapped his attention to the football player. He and Hiram locked eyes, and Will immediately switched seats with Quinn, who had been sitting beside Finn.

"Maybe you should take him out into the lobby with Leroy," Hiram whispered, the two older men hovering over Finn. "It only gets worse from here on out."

"How," Finn demanded tightly, "could it possibly get worse?"

Hiram shared another look with Will. "She stops saying no and starts saying yes."

Finn shook off the hands on his shoulders that were meant to be comforting, and Will could do nothing but sink back into his seat and wait for the inevitable fallout. Jesse's hand was on Rachel's bare breast, and she covered his hand with hers an instant before he kissed her again, almost devouring her with his intensity.

"She never - " Finn ground out, hunched in on himself. "She always said no..."

Even without complete sentences, Will understood. How terrible must it be, he wondered, for Finn to see his girlfriend's body like that for the first time as part of an audience? To see someone else touching her—and not just anyone else. Jesse could never be just "anyone" to Finn.

"Brace yourself," Hiram murmured, and Will knew even before he looked back at the stage that Rachel's relationship with Finn was over. They might pretend for a while longer, but he doubted it. Rachel might not yet know that she had outgrown her Ohio boyfriend, but watching her on stage like that, it was all too clear.

It was also perfectly clear just why Michael had chosen her and Jesse to play these parts. They were marvelous thriple-threats, but even more than that, they had serious chemistry. As much as it made Will almost physically ill to watch, Rachel played her part perfectly. She was passionate but nervous—a frightened child and a willing lover both at the same time. Jesse was firmly set on what he wanted, and he wasn't taking no for an answer. Once again, the line between character and actor blurred into nothingness and Will honestly couldn't tell from one moment to the next whether Jesse was touching Rachel, Melchior touching Wendla, or some strange admixture of the two.

Jesse kissed his way down her neck and across her chest, his hands reaching for the hem of her skirt. When she felt his touch, she jerked upright. "Wait," she pleaded, stopping his hand and tucking her legs closer to her body.

"It's just me," Jesse said, gentling again. Yes—that was Jesse. No doubt about it. Will didn't know what it looked like to anyone else in the audience, but in his eyes Melchior had completely disappeared. He was just Jesse—just as he said. He bent his head slightly toward hers. "It's just me."

Rachel's slow nod was almost unnecessary at that point and she leaned back on her arms, letting him reach between her legs. She returned to her back, Jesse's arm beneath her, cradling her waist as his other hand stayed between her legs—thankfully hidden by the folds of her skirt. "Now there—now that's—" She writhed, pushing at his hand locked at her waist, but it wasn't in an attempt to get away. The expression on her face made it utterly clear that she was thrashing for an entirely different reason, and Will wasn't at all sure that Jesse was just pretending to touch what the audience couldn't quite see.

"Yes?" Jesse prompted, the single word taut with agonizing tension.

"Yes," Rachel agreed, and he was on top of her, kissing her again, for just an instant before pulling back. He knelt between her legs, and she watched without protest as he raised himself up on his knees. He yanked his suspenders down, and as he reached for his fly Will heard again Michael's words as they were choosing their seats. Yes, the members of the audience sitting on those risers on stage would definitely get an eyeful. Will quite honestly saw more of Jesse St. James than he ever cared to, and that was only from the side. How was Hiram able to sit there so calmly? Didn't the man see what Will did—that it wasn't just the characters speaking somebody else's lines, walking through a carefully choreographed routine? Jesse positioned himself just before the music crescendo, and Rachel winced and cried out his character's name, a high-pitched yelp meeting the final note from the singers. They froze as the lights fell, a passionate tableau held for two heartbeats until darkness swallowed the stage.

"_Excellent_." Michael's sudden voice booming through the microphone startled Will, and he blinked as the lights returned to normal. "That's the end of Act One, guys, but we're going to just keep rolling. There's no formal audience to give an intermission to, so let's go!"

But it was too much for Finn—Will could see that in an instant. He raised an eyebrow at Hiram, who nodded in understanding and waved him toward the door where Leroy had disappeared.

"Come on," Will said softly, and he tugged Finn to his feet. The football player rose, shuffling mechanically, as Will guided him toward the exit. Technically he shouldn't be leaving the other kids, but he trusted Hiram to keep an eye on them for a moment.

They emerged into a quiet hallway that led to the lobby. Leroy's tall form lounged against a wall, his eyes trained on the smartphone in his hand, but he looked up as Will and Finn stepped through the door.

"Couldn't handle it either, huh?" he asked gently, giving Finn a consolatory light slap on the back. "There's no shame in that. Rachel kept explaining it to me over and over again, so I knew even before we came for our first workshop that I wasn't going to be able to watch that scene." He shared a glance with Will while Finn stared stonily at the ground. "Hiram's more intellectual, I guess. He tried to explain to me that it's not really my kid Jesse's molesting; it's her character. I just can't see it the way he does."

Will was willing to bet that Finn couldn't see it that way, either. Hiram was a step above Finn's reckoning of the situation—he was able to differentiate between actor and character. But he didn't see what Will saw when he watched Rachel and Jesse pretend to make love on stage. Hiram only saw—perhaps only _let_ himself see—the characters. In actuality, the relationship between actor, character, and situation was ridiculously more complex. With Rachel and Jesse, Will suspected it always would be.

"She _always_ said no," Finn mumbled, staring at the pattered carpet under his feet. "Told me to stop asking, so I did. But _he_ - "

"Shh, kid." Leroy stuffed his phone back in his pocket. "I get it. Really, I do. When we tried to sit her down to talk to her about this...stuff...she always said she wasn't interested. That we didn't have to worry about it. Watching the way Jesse touches her...it's a struggle. And I didn't even have the guts to sit through the scene like you did."

Will knew exactly what Leroy meant.

"Mr. Schuester, why don't you let Finn and I take a little walk?" Leroy suggested. "I don't think either of us really wants to go back in there right now. Do we?"

"Not really," Finn admitted.

"I'm not supposed to do this." Will glanced at Finn for a long minute. "Don't tell your mom and stepdad that I let you wander around New York without your legal chaperone, okay?"

Finn shook his head; tattling on his teacher was the furthest thing from his mind.

"Go on," Leroy urged. "Get back to the rest of your kids. Finn and I will be just fine."

* * *

><p>The rest of the play was predictably depressing, Will felt, though he admitted that his state of mind was no longer conducive to honest critiques. Rachel's final spoken line—a desperate, terrified cry for the mother who abandoned her to a horrible death—tore at his insides, and he saw Hiram visibly flinch at the sound. Moritz's death was sad but not unexpected. The return of their ghosts to stop Jesse from committing suicide to join them soothed the overwhelming angst of the second act at least a little bit, though Will still had a heavy heart as the house lights came back up. He looked carefully at each of his kids, trying to gauge from their faces the impact the show had had on them.<p>

Brittany, Kurt, Tina, and Blaine had all been crying—that was obvious enough. Quinn kept glancing at the door through which Finn had disappeared, though she hadn't asked where he went. Santana was trying to hide the fact that she'd been playing with her phone through most of the second act. Artie, Puck, and Mike all looked a little shellshocked. Mercedes was still glowering, but at least she wasn't making any rude comments.

"I have to check on something," Michael said, silencing his buzzing phone. "If you wait in the lobby we can talk a little more before you have to leave." He pulled himself out of his seat, hoisting the phone to his ear and beginning to speak quickly as he hurried backstage.

Will let out a long breath. It had been a beautiful performance. There were some snags, but he had every confidence that Michael would be able to iron them out. The show was raw and spare and utterly captivating. Will knew that much even without the careful eye of a critic. Rachel and Jesse were obvious gems in a solid cast, and he had no doubt that this was going to get them noticed. It was unlike anything else he'd ever seen before on stage. His kids had hooked themselves to a winner—had _created_ a winner. Opening night, Rachel was going to realize that her dreams really had come true. Her first Broadway show was going to be a success. And, just like Michael had joked, Will and all his kids were going to be able to say that they knew her when.

* * *

><p>Slipping away from Mr. Schue was never difficult. Mercedes almost wanted to roll her eyes at the ease in which she'd made her way backstage. It was a maze of white hallways and closed doors, though, and now she wasn't sure she'd be able to find what she was looking for.<p>

"Hey."

The sharp voice stopped her, and Mercedes carefully turned around. "What?" she asked cautiously. It was one of the actresses—the one Rachel had complained about.

"Don't do it." The girl was blond, and pretty in a sharp sort of way. She leaned against a wall, still in makeup and wearing a white terrycloth robe. "Whatever it is you're planning, don't."  
>"Ex<em>cuse<em> me?" Mercedes demanded. She was already angry, but the stranger's directive didn't do anything to temper the feeling. "Where do you get off telling me what to do?"

"I've been there," the girl said. "Done that way too many times. I can recognize a fellow sidecar when I see one."

"Sidecar?"

"Sidecar," the girl agreed. "The buddy role, the sidekick—the girl who's always second best. Don't kid yourself, okay? Rachel's sickeningly brilliant. If you keep trying to one-up her, you're always going to lose." She paused. "Take it from an old pro, and move on. Find a small pond somewhere, where you can be the big fish. The constant struggle isn't worth it."

"I'm _in_ a small pond now!" Mercedes snapped, "and I'm still not the big fish! It's always Rachel, even when she isn't there. Why am I constantly held up to her memory even when she's gone? Blaine and Kurt aren't."

"I don't know, and I honestly don't care." The other girl opened a door and paused, looking back at Mercedes. "Deal with that chip on your shoulder however you want, but you have to address it. Otherwise you'll be stuck right here, feeling this way, for the rest of your life. Is she really worth it?"

Mercedes pushed the conversation from her mind and pressed on down the hallway. She'd at least found the dressing rooms now, which was what she'd been looking for. She passed rooms with unknown names on the doors, looking intently for one name. When she found it, she pushed the door open without a second thought.

"Hey!" Jesse St. James' head snapped up, and he scowled fiercely at her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"What the hell are you doing in the wrong dressing room?"

Because it _was_ the wrong dressing room. She'd opened Rachel's door, only to come face to face with the both of them curled together on the couch and holding each other tightly. Rachel's dark head was tucked into the curve of Jesse's shoulder, her legs tossed across his lap. She was still wearing the blue dress that had been her final costume change, though Jesse had swapped his costume for a pair of sweats and a predictably black t-shirt.

"What business is it of yours?" He squeezed Rachel again and she buried her head further into his shoulder.

That was...odd. Rachel never backed down from a confrontation. Mercedes folded her arms again and shifted her stance. She was _not_ going to let St. James talk to her that way.

"Finn's going to love this when I tell him," she said gleefully. "I _knew_ you were cheating on him—I just knew it. Now I have proof."

"Dude, she's not cheating." Jesse put his hand on Rachel's head, stroking softly. "She's crying. This is our post-show ritual, and you have absolutely no business intruding on it." Anger flared within him, both at the mention of Finn and at the oblivious way Mercedes had barged into the room and started flinging accusations around. Rachel wasn't cheating—nor did he want her to. Making her feel the guilt of an affair was never part of his game plan, and he was playing to win. Seeing the workshop today was the final nail in the coffin for Finn's relationship with Rachel. It would only be a matter of time now.

But Mercedes' jump to conclusions about how he and Rachel were sitting really stirred his temper. This had nothing to do with his plan, with his struggle to win Rachel back. She was a consummate performer, and she threw everything she was into her role. With such a difficult part to play in such an emotional performance, it was no wonder she cried after every workshop and dress rehearsal. It had become their custom to curl up together on the ratty little couch in her dressing room for a while after each performance—the time frame varied depending on whether Michael was waiting for them or not but she could cry for several hours when she really got going, if he let her. Jesse truly believed that the first time he found her in tears after a rehearsal, she was ready to cry on just about anyone. It had had nothing to do with him—he was just the most readily available shoulder that night. Now it had become something they did together, and he cherished the time he got to spend comforting her. Usually she calmed fairly quickly now and they spent a while holding each other, murmuring their thoughts about the most recent performance and slowly returning to the real world where they weren't forbidden lovers, weren't hedged in on all sides by unfriendly adults.

Mercedes' sudden intrusion into that special time was utterly uncalled for, and Jesse wasn't the kind to overlook things like that.

"If you came to congratulate us on our marvelous performances," Jesse said tightly, knowing full well that that wasn't Mercedes' reason for skulking around backstage, "you can do that later. We're coming to dinner with you guys before you head back to your hotel. For now—beat it."

"Oh, no," Mercedes said. The hard light in her eyes was something Jesse knew all too well. It was jealousy, pure and simple. But there was nothing really all that simple about jealousy. It ate at the heart, turning a person deeply bitter. If Mercedes didn't find a way to deal with her baggage about Rachel she was going to end up extremely unhappy. Jesse didn't particularly care about that one way or another, but he wasn't going to let the girl's bitterness ruin Rachel's triumphant performance. "She's cheating, and this play is stupid. It's a soap opera with pornography." She stepped further into the room, focusing her words on Rachel's hidden face. "You know that's the only reason those people mob the theater, right? Because you're willing to take your clothes off, and they want to see it. It has nothing to do with the performance. The play—hell, it's just an excuse to see an underage girl without her shirt and call it art."

"_Out_." It was a line from the play, but Jesse found himself meaning it more this time than he ever had before. He'd been taught never to hit girls, but he honestly didn't know whether he'd be able to stop himself if Rachel wasn't currently tangled in his arms. She cried harder against him as Mercedes' words cut deeply, and the sound infuriated Jesse. He forced himself to let her go, surging to his feet. "Get out!"

"It's not true," Rachel said, tucked up in a ball in the corner of the couch. Her voice quivered, her face wet with tears. "It's a beautiful show! It's not like that at all!"

"You know Puck and Artie pulled out their phones and shot video, right? Of just that scene? You might get big audiences to come see this, but they'll only be here for one reason. You might as well just go make a sex tape with St. Jerk right now—any fame you get for this show will be for the exact same reason."

Jesse advanced across the tiny room, but before he could reach Mercedes a male hand was on his arm, stopping his movements.

"It's okay, Jesse," Will Schuester said, "I've got this."

"Take it back," Jesse insisted, staring at Mercedes over Schuester's shoulder. Hiram slipped into the room behind the big girl, immediately crossing to his daughter and pulling her into a comforting hug. Jesse wanted to be the one to comfort her—that was their custom, after all—but he was glad _someone_ was able to and he focused his attention on Mercedes again. "Take it back," he repeated. "How dare you? I get that you're jealous. Tough shit. You don't say things like that, especially when they're base lies."

"That was uncalled for, Mercedes," Schuester added. He cautiously let go of Jesse's arm, which Jesse wasn't entirely sure was a good idea. If Mercedes said something else, he wasn't positive he could keep still. "You need to apologize."

"It's the truth," Mercedes insisted. "Sometimes the truth hurts, princess. Get used to it."

"The truth," Jesse seethed, "is that you're so jealous you can't think straight. But you'd switch places with her in an instant if it were possible. Don't you dare tell me you wouldn't."

"Stop." Rachel pulled away from her father and crossed to Jesse. She slipped her arms around one of his, hugging it to her body as if seeking comfort. He wanted to turn and wrap himself around her, but he was rooted to the spot. If he moved now, it would be toward Mercedes, and that wouldn't end well. Better to stay where he was until the urge to hurt in return for Rachel's hurt had passed.

Rachel was still crying, silent tears slipping down her face. She turned her cheek into Jesse's arm, and he felt the moist touch as his sleeve soaked up the drops. "Stop fighting, please," she said, and Jesse struggled to obey. When she asked for something, he was powerless to deny her. "Mercedes, we were friends once. I don't know what happened to change that—it wasn't anything I did."

"You took my role from me!" Mercedes yelled.

"Maria?" Rachel rubbed her face against Jesse's sleeve again and slipped one of her hands into his. He squeezed it gratefully. "I gave you that part. I didn't take it."

"It wasn't yours to give! It was mine—my moment—and you had to go and make it all about you! As always!"

"It wasn't yours, Mercedes," Schuester said softly into the ensuing silence. "Miss Pillsbury and Coach Bieste both told me they had decided to double-cast the role. You would have been sharing it with Rachel if she had stayed. In a way, it _was_ her role to give. I'm sorry you dislike it, but you can't walk in here and talk to her like that."

"I wouldn't have shared," Mercedes declared, ignoring Schuester's gentle hint that it was time to leave. "I would have made them choose, even if they didn't want to, and they would have chosen me."

"Casting doesn't work that way." Schuester shared a glance with Hiram that Jesse couldn't quite grasp. It looked as if the two of them had really sort of bonded during the show. "If you had pushed, they would have had no choice but to blackball you."

"They wouldn't have," Mercedes insisted. "They would have picked me; she just didn't give them a chance!"

Schuester heaved a sigh. "I can't force you to believe anything," he said. "But you need to apologize to Rachel and Jesse. They're not the source of your problem, and you had no right to talk to them like that."

"No."

"Just go, Mr. Schue," Rachel said suddenly. Her father rose to stand beside her, and she gave him a watery smile. "I want a little time with Jesse, and we'll meet you for dinner later. Please?"

"Mercedes, let's go." Schuester didn't seem to want to argue with his former student, and he put a hand on Mercedes' shoulder, guiding her toward the door. "It was a beautiful performance, Rachel," he said, turning to look at her and Jesse. He seemed extremely tired, and if he'd been dealing with outbursts like that from Mercedes for most of the day, Jesse didn't blame him. "We'll talk more about it at dinner."

Rachel kissed her father's cheek when he hugged her. "I'm fine," she assured him, and they shared a smile before Hiram left to help Schuester. The door closed behind them and this time—for the first time that Jesse knew of—she locked it.

"It's not true, Rachel," he said instantly, pulling her down with him to the couch once more. It was a lumpy, saggy thrift-store find, and the springs squeaked badly, but Rachel was strangely attached to it. It took up an inordinate amount of space in her tiny dressing room but she wouldn't let Jesse buy her something smaller and nicer.

"I know it's not," she said, rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her hands. Her palms came away smudged with makeup, and she looked decidedly raccoon-ish when she raised her head to his again. He smiled but said nothing—he'd make sure she washed all of it off before they left the room, and he wasn't about to laugh at her now, not even in fun. "I just...it was so sudden."

"If that was the only thing she could think of to throw at you, you know we have a winner here." Jesse pulled her close again, letting her shift around until she settled into their accustomed position. He'd prefer holding all of her in his lap instead of just her legs tossed over his, but he supposed that might be a little too much to explain away as just a close friendship. Once she kicked the beanstalk to the curb—or vise versa; he wasn't picky—then they could finally move forward. Until then, he was willing to keep things reasonably platonic.

"I've worried about it," Rachel admitted softly against his shoulder. "What she said. Michael always told me not to—that this is art, not pornography, and I believe him. But I still wonder what it looks like to an audience."

"What does it feel like to you?" Jesse asked, sweeping her curled hair to the side. He set his mouth against her head softly, telling himself it wasn't really a kiss because he wasn't moving away again. "When we're on stage and I'm touching you—what does it feel like?"

"It feels...good," she whispered, her face flaming slightly as she made the admission. "It feels right. Like it's something beautiful."

"It is," he said softly. "And if that's how you feel, that's how the audience will see it. Don't let Mercedes' jealousy make you second-guess this, Rach. You're perfect, and this show is damn close to actually deserving you as its star."

He felt her tears again, though this time they fell for a different reason. He didn't complain, merely holding her as she breathed against him and they both tried to rid themselves of the bad feelings Mercedes had evoked.

"Finn is never going to talk to me again," she said after a while.

"You don't know that."

"I suspect." She burrowed further into his embrace, and Jesse was only too happy to hold her tighter. "I kept telling him over and over what the play was about—I described the scenes to him in vivid detail more than once. But he doesn't listen. On the phone—even on Skype when I can actually see him—it's like he's there, but he's not at the same time."

Jesse said nothing. Anything that came out of his mouth at this point would demonize Hudson, and he didn't want that. Rachel needed to figure this out on her own, no matter how badly he wanted to urge her to drop the other guy.

"I've never had that problem with you," she admitted softly.

Jesse smiled into her hair Of course she didn't. "That's because you're the most important thing in my world." It was easy to say pretty words like that, but with Rachel, he found himself meaning them.

"I should be the most important thing in his."

"Mm," Jesse said noncommittally. He wasn't touching that one. "Do me a favor?"

"Sure," she said, shifting slightly in his arms. The easy way she agreed without any hint of suspicion or mistrust warmed his heart. It hadn't always been that way. Even during the early weeks of rehearsals she had still been wary, despite his constant reassurances that he bore her no ill will and only wanted her happiness. Now they were finally at a place that felt good—not perfect, not yet—but good. Hudson would be out of the picture soon, and in the meantime Jesse had Rachel almost all to himself anyway. They played passionate lovers on stage and close friends the rest of the time, treading dangerously close to the line of impropriety but never quite crossing it.

"Stand up for a minute. I want to make sure I didn't leave a mark."

Rachel stood willingly, holding up the back of her dress. Jesse couldn't help himself, and he ran a hand up her sleek leg, following the line to the top of her thighs where he'd struck with the switch. The underwear that went with her costume was baggy enough that he was able to slide the material aside, exposing the tender flesh to his view.

There were marks—not welts, thank god, but light red stripes across the tops of her thighs, and he sighed as he traced the lowest of the cluster. "I'm sorry," he said, wishing he could follow his fingers with a soothing kiss—or a line of kisses—or—

No, he thought firmly. Not until she broke up with Hudson.

She trembled slightly as his hands touched her, and he could feel her eyes on him. "I wanted you to," she said. "Don't beat yourself up about it."

"I hate that scene," Jesse said darkly. "I really hate it."

"You did wonderfully today." Rachel's hand dropped, stroking through his hair. The touch was sweet and soft, and he closed his eyes, savoring it. "I'm sorry I slapped you."

"No, you're not." Jesse reluctantly let go of her dress and turned her toward him. She stood between his legs as he sat on the lumpy couch, her hand still petting his hair gently as he held her hips. "I need...I need to be okay enough with it to be able to do the scene, but I _need_ you to know, Rachel, that I'll never really feel comfortable hitting you. And you can lecture all you want about how it's not us, it's our characters; in this case, it doesn't make any difference to me. I can't kiss you and not know it's _you_. The same goes for this scene."

"I know." Rachel smiled at him, and it was such a tender gesture that he knew getting rid of Hudson was only a technicality at this point. Daring, unable to stop himself, he leaned forward and kissed her clothed stomach, resting his head against the warm material of her costume.

"Jesse..." she warned, but the tremble in her voice told him exactly what he needed to know.

"I know," he said, forcing himself to lift his head away from her tempting softness. "I know." He let go of her hips and took her hands instead. "But I'm still going to be here when he's gone, Rach. You know that, right?"

The warmth in her eyes told him she did.

* * *

><p><em>Credits: I used a bootleg recording of Spring Awakening while I wrote this (obviously). I have multiple copies downloaded, but for this particular project I used the one available in 9 parts on Youtube by user WendlaBergman, so if you want to watch along with Will and the rest of the glee club, that's the "approved" version for this story. I believe there are understudies on stage for both Moritz and Martha in this particular recording, but it's one of the best I've been able to find as far as audio quality which was important while I was transcribing dialogue. God, I'm <span>such<span> a nerd._

_I also feel compelled to say I don't actually hate Finn. I don't think he's right for Rachel (obviously) but if we want to talk about characters I loathe, Sunshine Corazon is at the top of the list, and Mercedes made her way there after this past episode. Now I'm sorry I had Jesse give her a corsage for prom, lol! Anyone who made it all the way through what was basically my thirty-page temper tantrum...give yourselves a medal!_


	15. Hairography

_A/N: Hi guys! Well, I know I have multiple oneshots in the works that I've mentioned to people, but I wanted to get this particular one out asap. I mentioned to at least a couple of people that I was working on a "fix" to what I considered the ultimate unfixable scene (that is, the scene deemed most difficult to infuse with St. Berry goodness). HOWEVER, little birds have been chirping in my ear (and if you can tell me what musical that line comes from, I'll dedicate a oneshot to you!) and whispering that an even more unfixable Finchel moment is coming up in Episode 5. I wanted to get this out before then, so even if it's just for a short while, I'll have fixed the most unfixable scene. (Do you think there's an even LESS fixable scene than this one? Let me know and maybe I'll take it on!)_

_ALSO, spurred by an epic comment by erinsgirl, I am opening up a challenge to my readers. Was there a comment you would have liked to see a member of New Directions make while watching Spring Awakening in the previous chapter? Send it to me, and I'll put it in there (and credit you, of course!). Here's erinsgirl's comment: "I was a little disappointed that Britney didn't try to query why Rachel didn't believe in the stork in the beginning of the play. It just seems Britney." Serious lols, of COURSE Brittany would say that!_

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><p>He shouldn't even be there.<p>

It felt so much like cheating even though it wasn't—even though he had permission. Quinn _told_ him he could do something tonight because she was babysitting, and he kept reciting that to himself as he sat uncomfortably on the end of Rachel's bed. But even to his own ears, the words didn't sound honest. Quinn didn't know where he was, or who he was with. His beautiful girlfriend—beautiful _pregnant_ girlfriend, he reminded himself, feeling even worse—had no idea that he was currently sitting in Rachel Berry's bedroom, waiting for her to step out of the bathroom so they could work on his hairography.

It seemed innocuous enough at the time. She was dressed...dressed...he didn't know what to call that little black thing she'd been wearing when she offered to help him with their hair number, but it had distracted him. So much skin—warm in tone where Quinn was so pale, and so tempting that he had almost reached out to touch despite the fact that she wasn't his, that he _had_ a girlfriend already and it wasn't Rachel.

The fact that Rachel had made it known his advances were entirely welcome wasn't helping matters in the slightest. How was he supposed to practice restraint and fidelity when Quinn didn't seem to want to be around him half the time, and there Rachel was, hanging on his every word? She listened to him—unlike Quinn. She told him he was smart and funny—unlike Quinn. She offered to help him—unlike Quinn. She had intriguing little beauty marks here and there—again, unlike Quinn—and sometimes he got so distracted in rehearsals or in class, trying to puzzle out whether any more might be hidden under the surface of her clothes.

And that was something he shouldn't be thinking—at least, he was pretty sure. Did thinking about another girl's beauty marks count as cheating? Thinking about her legs probably did, and Rachel had great legs. Smooth and slim, and he knew she worked out so they were probably strong. If she wrapped herself around him just right, she could probably hold herself up with minimal—

Yeah. _Definitely_ cheating according to Quinn's rules.

He tugged at his shirt and drummed on his knees with his hands. Why was this so hard? Why couldn't he get Rachel out of his mind so he could just move on with Quinn? It wasn't _fair_. Quinn was having his baby. He still wasn't entirely sure how that had happened without actual sex, but everyone knew he wasn't the brightest crayon in the box and so he wasn't going to second-guess her. If she said it happened, then it happened.

Still, it hardly seemed fair that one little timing mistake with his buzzkill was going to impact the rest of his life so drastically. He was having a _kid_. That meant tons of money and responsibility, and if he was honest, he wasn't really looking forward to it.

It also meant that he couldn't break up with Quinn even if he wanted to. No way was he going to be _that_ guy.

But no breakup meant no Rachel. She was going to be off limits to him forever.

And yet...was she? It would be so, so easy to kiss her again, like he had before. She wouldn't complain. And she hadn't said anything to Quinn yet about his indiscretions. Maybe she never would. Maybe he could convince her not to; convince her that this sort of thing happened all the time, and she would be okay with it. She was so unpopular, after all. She couldn't really think he'd break up with Quinn for her?

...would he?

Finn honestly didn't know. If it wasn't for the baby—if everything was normal—he didn't know if he might consider breaking up with Quinn so he could touch Rachel without all these confusing thoughts and feelings. She was hot—mostly—and she didn't talk down to him like Quinn did. She talked to him like he was _worth_ talking to. Sure, she yammered on and on about herself all the time, but at least she wasn't scary. Quinn could definitely get scary when she wanted to be. She also always decided where they were going to go, and when, and with whom. He had to ask permission if he wanted to do anything—like tonight. Though, considering what he did with that permission, maybe it was for the best after all.

God, why did it have to be so confusing?

"I'll just be a second," Rachel called from inside her bathroom.

"Thanks again for helping me with this hairography stuff." Hairography. Right. If he could just remember the reason he was here in the first place, maybe things wouldn't be so bad. They could work on fruity hair-tossing with none the wiser, and he could leave with his dignity at least mostly intact.

"Yeah," she said, the door between them. "I mean, it's all about getting warmed up. Could you think of a song, maybe, that we could practice with?"

Uh... Definitely drawing a blank.

A door opened downstairs. Finn breathed a sigh of relief. He knew at least one of her dads was home because Leroy had let him in and waved him upstairs. Now maybe both of them were here. He found the idea strangely comforting. No way was Rachel going to try anything with both her dads around, right?

"What about that one from Grease?" she said when he didn't answer. "You know, we did it when you first joined the club?"

Oh, Finn remembered. She had terrified him that day. She was so...so intense. Every move she made, every note she sang, it was like it meant more to her than anything had ever meant to him. He also thought she was maybe coming onto him a little, but it was hard to tell. Kurt had been giving him the same look, and _that_ was just too horrifying to think about. "O...kay," he said slowly. "Only I was just mostly nervous that day, but it—"

The door to the bathroom swung open, and Rachel appeared.

In a...catsuit?

God, she was hot.

Kurt had mentioned numerous times that there was never an excuse for spandex, but Rachel so totally proved him wrong. She had a multitude of excuses for spandex, and he could see every single one of them. The tight ringlets of her hair were maybe a little much, but everything else...

"Tell me about it...stud," she said with a little smile, and she reached over to turn on the music.

Music. Right. They were supposed to be...rehearsing. Except all he could think about was the mailman, and his mom was in the car with him, and...this was _so_ not good. Quinn was going to find out, because she always found out, because she seemed to have a sixth sense for when he did something she wouldn't like, and then he was going to be _dead_. Deader than dead. He was never going to see his child, because its mother was going to tear him apart over a catsuit.

The words of a song had never felt so apt as he fumbled weakly through his verse. _Not__a__good__idea, __not__a__good__idea_... something in his head kept chanting, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her to stop. Not when those dark eyes were gleaming at him, enhanced by heavy, smoky makeup like he'd never seen Rachel wear before. Now he completely knew why some guys said girls looked good enough to eat—it was totally like that. Quinn was hot, but she'd never made him feel like this before. Rachel was there, right there for the taking. The way she was smiling at him, he was convinced she wouldn't complain. She couldn't possibly look like _that_ and not mean it, could she? Of course not. It wasn't possible.

Rachel grabbed his hand, pulling him up to dance with her. He stood woodenly, unable to keep his eyes off of her curves despite knowing it was _such_ a bad idea. She smiled encouragingly, turning back to him as she started her verse.

And Finn seriously could not take it anymore. "Wait," he said. "Stop—stop." Oh, he wanted her. Wanted to reach out and grab her—wanted to know just how that skin would taste, just the color of weak tea splashed with milk. But Quinn. Quinn would absolutely murder him. More than murder—she'd tear him to pieces and leave him for the janitor to clean up. She'd warned him about this, too. Ordered him. Told him that plenty of guys cheated on their wives or pregnant girlfriends, but he was categorically forbidden to do so with Rachel. And because Quinn would know—because he was apparently incapable of lying to her in anything resembling a believable way—Rachel was off-limits. He couldn't do this. Not because he didn't want to, but because Quinn would find out, just like she always found out.

Rachel turned to face him, her big eyes narrowed with...confusion? Not disappointment or hurt or anger. Just incomprehension. He braced for the inevitable show of temper. She was _not_ going to be happy when he turned her down, but he had to do it. He really didn't have any other choice.

"We can't—" he started, but before he could settle on his next words, the bedroom door abruptly opened.

"Hey," an unfamiliar male voice said, and Finn froze as a strange boy, one he had never seen before, walked easily into the room. He palmed the door closed behind him and threw himself down across Rachel's bed, pulling a rolled-up magazine from his back pocket and smoothing it out against the comforter. "Don't let me distract you—go on with your practice."

"Jesse!" There was something in Rachel's voice Finn hadn't ever heard before. It was...beyond happy. Even when she talked to him, she never sounded like that.

"It's fine, babe," the boy said, raising his head and flashing her a smile that lit up the room. "I know you said you were practicing for a while tonight. Shelby let us out early today, and I wanted to see you. I'll stay quiet and behave myself while you work."

"If you do," Rachel teased, her smile just as big and wide, "it'd be a first."

Okay, that was it. What the hell was going on here? Who was this guy, and why was Rachel smiling at him as if he had single-handedly invented musical theater? She didn't have a brother, and he severely doubted the guy was a cousin or some other relative. People did not call family members "babe." Not outside of West Virginia, anyway. But the only other obvious choice would be a boyfriend, and Rachel didn't have one of those. If she did, she wouldn't be trailing after him. She wouldn't be coming onto him in a catsuit, for chrissakes! Unless...maybe this Jesse _was_ her boyfriend, and he'd just caught her cheating? But...but he looked completely calm, leafing through a magazine and sprawling on Rachel's bed as if he belonged there. Didn't he see what his girlfriend—if she was his girlfriend—was wearing? And that she'd been wearing it for another guy? "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded finally.

Rachel shot him another puzzled look, and the light in her eyes dimmed—just slightly, but enough that he saw it—when she turned away from Jesse. "What are you talking about?"

"Who's the punk, and what is he doing here?"

Rachel sat on her bed, pulling her feet out of the dangerous-looking heels she'd been wearing, and crossed her legs. _Not_ a good idea in spandex. Well, actually, a _very_ good idea. Except he wasn't supposed to be thinking like that, right? Quinn, he told himself firmly. Got to remember Scary Quinn.

"This is Jesse," she said, touching the boy on the shoulder. "He's my boyfriend."

Confirmation. The strange guy _was_ Rachel's boyfriend. But then why the _hell_ wasn't he upset about the way she was dressed, and the fact that she'd totally been coming on to Finn? None of it made any sense at all. Finn tried to gather enough thoughts and words to form a coherent sentence, and he studied Jesse while he did so. The guy met his eyes with half a smirk on his mouth, and he tossed Finn a bro-nod. His entire air was...calm. Not terribly interested. Slightly amused. He was a good-looking guy, Finn guessed, though he didn't want word getting around that he might be able to tell that kind of thing. The guy wasn't as big as Finn, but he looked...at home in his body. Like an adult—like Mr. Schuester. Not like most of the boys at McKinley, who were still in various stages of gawky coltishness. To top it off, dude was reading _Ballet __Today_. How did a guy sit there—well, sprawl there—reading a fruity _ballet_ magazine and still manage to look just about as studly as Puck?

"Your boyfriend." Finn guessed he wasn't really asking for confirmation. Rachel had just said as much. "Then why were you—and the music—and—"

Rachel's puzzled frown deepened. "We were practicing. Like I told you. What did you think it was?"

"Dude!" Finn snapped, turning to Jesse. "Your girlfriend is sitting there in a fucking spandex catsuit! And she was totally just trying to seduce me! And you're sitting there like you're okay with that?" He really couldn't believe it. If Rachel was his, there's no way he'd stand for it. No _way_. She wouldn't be dressing like that, either. Not where anyone else could see, anyway. That outfit she wore to school was also on his list. Nothing like that, _ever_. Because she was hot, and other guys would start getting ideas, and—

The sound of male laughter broke his train of thought, and he looked up in utter confusion to see Jesse's face buried in his hands as he rocked with a full-body laugh. The sound burned up Finn's belly and esophagus. Embarrassment—utter _mortification._ And he didn't even know why. Why was the guy _laughing_ at him?

"Dude," the guy managed to squeeze out between giggles, "she wasn't seducing you."

"Why would you think that, Finn?" Rachel added. She wasn't laughing—thank god for small miracles—but she definitely didn't look happy, either.

"Catsuit!" he said, and he started to point but then got flustered and couldn't decide what to do with his hands, so he let them fall to his sides, feeling utterly lost in this situation. "Hooker makeup! The way you were dancing..."

"Finn, it's a costume."

"She looks like Sandy to me," Jesse agreed. "I thought you all were, like, a really close-knit group? That's what Rachel told me, anyway. How don't you know that she loves theatricality?"

That was an awfully big word, but Finn thought he understood what Jesse was trying to say. But that look in her eyes—the way she talked to him—it felt _so_ real. "No," he said. "That's not it."

"Bravo, babe," Jesse said, turning his head and dropping a kiss on her spandex-clad thigh. "I always knew you were a marvelous actress, but it appears you've done something I didn't know was possible. You led someone on without even knowing it." He erupted again into a fit of rather unmanly giggles.

"It's not funny, Jesse!" Rachel protested, and she looked a little horrified.

"Put the poor boy out of his misery," Jesse suggested. "Tell him you were just acting."

"Of course I was just acting!" she snapped, slapping him a little harder than what Finn would consider playful. "Finn, I didn't—I wasn't—"

"You've been panting after me since the beginning of the year!" he exploded. "I don't believe you!"

Rachel shot off the bed faster than he'd thought possible—definitely faster than he'd expected someone wrapped in skin-tight material to be able to move. Her hands found her hips as she glared up at him. The heat radiating from her eyes was...magnificent. Sure, it was angry rather than something...else...but it was still passionate. Even furious, Quinn never exuded heat. She wasn't warm. The Cheerios didn't call his blond girlfriend the Ice Princess for nothing. But Rachel...she was always like a simmering bed of coals just waiting to burst into flame. He was drawn in by her warmth, unable to turn away. Those flames were riotous now; they burned behind the dark snap of her angry eyes. He didn't dare touch, lest he burn. But he wanted to. God, he wanted to.

"That's not true!" she contested hotly. "Okay, so maybe I made a fool out of myself at our first glee rehearsal, but that died pretty quickly. What did you think? That I'd just forgive and forget everything after you lied to me and got me to quit Cabaret? I forgave you, but I didn't forget. You were never the same boy in my eyes after that."

"Which I should thank you for, by the way," Jesse said lightly, raising his eyes from his magazine. "Maybe I should put this into terms a jock can understand. You fumbled what was maybe the most important pass of your entire sorry life. I intercepted and scored." He paused. "Take that last one any way you please; I'm rather fond of the double entendre."

Okay, he had no idea what that last word meant, but he knew by the tone that this kid was mocking him. He clenched his fists, ready to fight for this. Not for Rachel, but for his pride.

"Jesse," she rebuked lightly, though there was no actual censure in her tone. "Behave."

"That's no fun," Jesse said, flashing her a playful, daring smile before turning back to Finn. "Besides, guy, if she was really seducing you, you'd damn well know it. There wouldn't be any question."

"Oh, like you have personal experience?" The words were out of his mouth before Finn realized he'd been goaded into saying them.

"Quite a bit."

"Enough!" Rachel said, and she stepped between them, reaching a hand toward Finn's chest to stop his advance across the floor. "Finn, I'm sorry. It's in the musical—the outfit and everything. I really didn't mean it that way."

So the winking, the dancing—she'd meant...none of it? It had all been an act for the sake of their practice? He knew Rachel never did anything halfway, but it had felt so real. He'd really thought there was a connection there, that she'd wanted him like he wanted her. But this Jesse kid—when she looked at him, it was like everything else in the world went dim. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed.

Quinn had never looked at him like that. Ever.

"We can still work on the hairography," Rachel suggested hesitantly, as if she knew he wasn't going to accept. "I'll even take off the costume if it bothers you that much."

"No," he said, dropping his head slightly and shifting his feet as he dug in his pocket for the keys. "No, I think I'm just going to go." He'd been humiliated enough for one night. He just really wanted to go home. His mom would help him feel better. She always did.

"I'm sorry, Finn," Rachel said again, but she didn't stop him as he opened the door and walked out.

* * *

><p><em>Aaaaaand I was going to leave it there, but I get these complaints, you see, when there's an opportunity for smut and I don't seize it. So to keep people happy *cough*androgenius*cough* yes, there's another scene. Because catsuit + bedroom = an opportunity for smut, I do believe. ;-)<em>

* * *

><p>"You didn't have to goad him like that."<p>

Jesse's laugh was big and loud and unrepentant. "Babe, anyone who could mistake you acting for you being seductive deserves to be laughed at."

"Jesse, we talked about this," she said, though she really couldn't be mad at him. Not when he looked at her like that. Or at all, really. "About you engaging in battles of wit with unarmed opponents?"

"I can't help it if every verbal sparring match I get into is inherently unequal."

It was true, too, and Rachel didn't protest as he sat up and slipped his arms around her, drawing her close. His hands slid across the stretchy material of her costume, leaving trails of warmth that soaked right through the fabric. She shivered, not with fear or cold, but with sudden anticipation.

"Just like you can't help how incredibly edible you look all wrapped up like that," he said, his voice soft in her ear. "Between that getup and your natural looks, the poor boy didn't stand a chance."

"Jesse," she murmured. He was the master of dirty talk, and though he hadn't really turned it on yet, she could tell it was coming.

"You know, Leroy was walking out the door as he let me in. Leaving for a late dinner with Hiram. Knowing them, they could be gone till midnight."

It was true, too. Her dads could linger for hours over wine and dessert. She felt Jesse behind her, so warm and solid, his arms holding her in place. She felt bad for Finn—really, she did—but it was hard to concentrate on anything else when Jesse touched her. His hands ran across her stomach and over her hips, smoothing across the cold surface of the synthetic fibers. "Finn is a good guy," she said, though her will to continue to scold in the face of Jesse's temptation was quickly fleeing. "He's my friend."

"Good for him." His mouth found her throat, traced slowly down to meet her shoulder. "He has no idea—absolutely no clue—what you're like when you _really_ want someone. There's no comparison."

"How would he know?" She twisted in his arms, wanting to see his eyes. They darkened when he wanted something, and they were almost cobalt now. Stormy. Firm and confident and hotter than hell. "I've never felt about anyone else the way I feel about you. How could he possibly know the difference?" She took a breath, feeling his arms constrict even more around her. "I didn't mean to do it, though. To lead him on. I didn't know I was doing it."

"May I make a suggestion?" He urged her to turn further, and Rachel squirmed in his hold until she was facing him, kneeling on either side of his legs. "Don't wear a catsuit around a guy unless you really mean it." His hand reached up swiftly, found the zipper at the back of her neck, and drew it abruptly down.

Cold air found her skin, but then he was drawing the short sleeves from her arms, the top of the costume falling away, and as soon as her arms were free she reached for him, his face warm against her palms as she pulled him closer for a kiss.

His mouth was deliciously familiar to her by now, and she melted into his embrace, moving to kiss him harder as he struggled out of his shirt. She didn't want to break the kiss to let him pull the garment over his head, but he broke away just for that moment before returning to her. His hands were on her ass, pulling her hard against him, and she tangled one hand in his hair, tugging, knowing he liked when she did that. He responded with a satisfied noise, curling his fingers harder into her flesh, and she exhaled swiftly through her nose as a jolt of desire rocked through her. He was always able to make her want him—always make her feel like her whole self was both unraveling and just being born. But there was something about days when he let himself lose control—when he loved her with just a touch less sweetness and romance...she didn't know how to describe it. It was so different from anything she knew. Anything she'd ever known. He consumed her, and she let him, and it was amazing.

"He doesn't know the color of your skin after it's been sucked on," Jesse said, murmuring the words intently into her ear. He stretched his hands on her ass and twisted his body, turning them both and propelling her to her back on the bed. She hit with a thud, and Jesse's body was immediately on top of hers. Her lower half felt too confined in the tight-fighting jumpsuit. She longed to be out of it now. "It's a fucking gorgeous color—pale caramel cream crossed with rose. I can picture it even now." As if to prove a point, he lowered his head and nibbled at the tender spot just below her ear before unfurling his tongue and laving at the petal-soft skin. He bit lightly and sucked, and Rachel tried to writhe beneath him as his hands held her still. "It's perfect—just at that point where I'll leave a mark if I lick even one more time."

"Do it," she pleaded, hearing the hoarse need in her own voice but not caring. Jesse did not often leave hickeys or other marks on her, stating that the impulse was borne of a caveman desire, but she loved it when he did. Though she had to hide the marks with makeup at school and around her dads, she liked knowing that they were there. Seeing them in the bathroom mirror when she showered. They were a reminder of Jesse when he wasn't with her—they burned like a brand sunk deep into her skin, even when no one else could see them.

"Not tonight," he said, and she was about to argue with him when he bit her earlobe, returning her attention to his body and what he was doing rather than what he wasn't doing. "You already know you're mine. You don't need a hickey to tell you that."

That wasn't why she wanted it, but she held her peace.

"Besides, I wasn't done talking."

But he seemed more intent on doing other things with his mouth as he kissed his way down her throat and grated his teeth against the sharp line of her clavicle. One hand slipped between them to palm a breast, and he nipped a line down her sternum before enveloping the nipple in his mouth.

The heat of his breath—the texture of his tongue—the sharp nip every now and then from his teeth—it was perfect, and Rachel found herself whimpering, pleading with him for more. Her hips rocked up, the softness of her center meeting the hard bulge in his jeans. She hissed with the frustration of not enough contact, not enough skin, and reached to rub him through his clothes.

Instantly her wrist was pinned in his hand, and he pulled her arm firmly away, putting a little pressure on the joint as he pressed it into the pillow by her head. "Don't move that," he said, in a voice that just dared her to test him. "I'm not nearly done with you yet."

"I certainly hope not," she said, but she left her arm where it was even when he released it.

"I'm not a fan of the tight curls," he said, running a hand through her meticulously coifed hair. "They make your hair too short. It's gorgeous when you leave it natural."

"But Oli—"

"Yes," he said, cutting her words off with a quick kiss to her full lips, "I'm aware it's the look Olivia Newton-John sported at the end of Grease. Trust me, I'm familiar with it. But she didn't have half the natural sex appeal you do, even back then." He kissed her again, sucking her tongue into his mouth, his hands stroking her half-naked body with incredible skill and desire. "She's not as beautiful," he said, breaking the kiss and running his nose along the angle of her jaw. "And she can't possibly taste as good, either." His head moved, his mouth enveloping her other nipple as his hand came up to squeeze and knead. His fingers tickled, making the other nipple harden, and he flicked and pinched lightly, sending tremors of sensation slamming straight to her core. She was wet—somewhat uncomfortably so, in fact, considering the fact that she was wearing skin-tight spandex and no underwear.

"Jesse, please," she said, not really sure what she was asking for at this point. For him to fuck her—yes. For the sweet torture to both cease and go on forever—quite possibly. "_Please_."

"You know that does no good," he said with a chuckle. "I'll take care of you, sweetheart, but not before I'm done playing. If you want a guy you can boss around, Finn sounded like he was available."

"Screw you," she said without heat. "I don't want him; I want you."

"I know." He bit lightly on her nipple, making her twist and moan. "Almost makes me feel sorry for him. But I'm a selfish bastard, and I'm keeping you all to myself."

"Then why did you tell me Finn might be amenable?"

"I'm a tease," Jesse said simply. "And I know you'd never do it." He bit harder before enveloping it with his tongue, soothing away any small flash of pain in wet heat. "Besides, he could never make you feel the way I do. He can't make you scream." He shifted his hands, moving away from her skin just enough to peel the jumpsuit the rest of the way off. "He doesn't know," he breathed against her skin, "the way your chest rises and falls so sharply when you want me. How your nipples harden at the sound of my voice when I have you turned on." He kissed her belly button, his tongue lapping at the divot. "They're just the perfect color, too—between brown and berry—and they feel so good against my tongue." He licked one as if to prove a point, a long, sensuous lick, and she shuddered hard beneath him.

"I bet he's still a virgin," Jesse said, stretching his body out next to her on the bed, shifting one leg between hers. His voice was low and dangerous in her ear—almost a whisper, though there was nothing weak about it. "When he fantasizes and jacks off, he has no idea how you really look. I'm sure he's dreamed about it." He touched her thigh, ran his hand firmly up the inside of her leg. "He doesn't know the play of light and shadow on your curves," he murmured, settling his mouth close to her ear so he could continue to murmur as he touched her. He was so close to her center, so close to where she needed him to be... "He can't even imagine what it feels like to do this," Jesse said as he moved his hand and pushed one finger inside her. She mewled, arching her back slightly, her body reveling in the sensation and demanding more all at the same time. "How wet you are, how hot—your body's like fire when I touch you here. Like a volcano—as if you were molten under the surface.

At this point in the teasing, Rachel was pretty sure she was, in fact, molten beneath her skin. "Fuck me, Jesse," she said, just barely remembering not to move the hand he had placed near her head. "_Please_."

"Oh, I will," he assured her. "But I'm not done here." He dropped a kiss against her temple and licked the shell of her ear leisurely. "No one but me knows just how you like to be touched." He moved his hand, his thumb gathering wetness and sliding over her clit excruciatingly slowly. She tried to buck against his hand, to get faster, better friction, but he held still until she stopped. "How fucking small and tight you are, though you love to feel full." He added a second finger, stretching her inner walls, and she hissed in pleasure. Everything he said was incredibly true. Jesse's cock was well above the average size if her health textbook was to be believed, and the first few times she had honestly wondered if he was actually going to fit. But he was marvelously good at this foreplay thing, and by the time he pressed inside her she was so turned on that questions of pain were no longer an issue. "He'd never know what I do—that Rachel Berry secretly loves dirty talk. That if I phrase it just right, and tell you how much I fucking worship your tits, and how I want to bury my cock inside you, I can usually turn you on to the point where I can add a third finger."

His thumb kept sweeping over her clit in slow, lazy strokes as he talked, and she was literally vibrating with the need for _more_. For his hands, his cock, _anything_ that would push her over the edge. She was wound so tightly that she thought she might possibly combust before he let her come. Then, as if suiting action to words, he pushed a third finger inside her and curled them, unerringly finding her g-spot and pressing firmly.

Bliss. White light flashed across her vision for an instant as her body constricted, her muscles clenching down against his hand, her hips rocking up, seeking—seeking—

But he withdrew his hand immediately once she crested the wave, not coaxing her orgasm along and drawing it sweetly from her body as he always did. She cried out again, this time in confused frustration, and she moved her hand from beside her head to correct the problem. He caught it again almost instantly, and his body was between her legs, his hips digging into the inside of her thighs as his cock entered her firmly with one quick thrust.

Without any further buildup, she exploded again. Her legs shuddered and grabbed him as he thrust, her world shattering apart as an orgasm hovering on the knife's edge of pain ripped through her. That had never happened to her before, and she couldn't stop the noises or the pulsing of her body as she dissolved into sensation. She'd experienced multiple orgasms before, but not like this—always with a rest and another climb to that delicious plateau. This had been instantaneous, the second torn from her almost out of shock at his sudden movements. Everything was raw and new and so intense; she shuddered and cried out each time he entered her, stretching her deliciously, almost as if molding her insides specifically to take him. Her clit was too sensitive now for him to touch with his hand, but every few strokes he changed his angle to brush against it, and her body jerked and spasmed anew.

"Jesse," she panted, unsure whether she actually had another word in her vocabulary. "Jesse...Jesse..."

He shifted again, angling to stroke her clit now with each thrust, and she felt their bodies slip against each other, slick with sweat and sex. Was he really going to try to make her come again? She didn't know if she could—didn't know if she wanted to. Already this was far more intense than ever before. He was staking his claim more surely than any hickey could ever do.

"I know you can do it," he murmured in her ear, voice taut with his own need. "Come for me again—one more time. Take me with you. Take what you want from me."

His voice pushed her over the edge, as always. She came hard, muscles already sore and protesting as they clenched and released over and over again. Just as he'd said, her orgasm triggered his. He shoved deep, bumping her cervix with a strange, internal ache, and she felt him come inside her, a low groan leaving his throat as he buried his head in the crook of her neck.

"Oh, god," she whispered, her arms tightening around him. "Oh, god."

"Ditto," he said tightly. She felt the soft touch of his lips on her skin. "Holy fuck; maybe you should think about wearing catsuits more often if that's the result."

"I don't think I can move," she said honestly. Her body was boneless—liquid.

"Don't try, baby. Just stay here with me for a while."

She could do that. She could definitely do that. He shifted his body slightly, moving most of his weight off of her, and tucked his head up next to hers on the pillow. "Just like this," he said, sounding about as pliant as she felt. His voice was like hot taffy—it flowed over her, molten and slow. She closed her eyes, savoring the little pops of aftershock until even they stopped, leaving her nothing but drowsy and sated. At some point they'd have to move—her dads _were_ coming home tonight, after all, and they wouldn't overlook something like Jesse's Rover parked in front of the house. But for now all she wanted was to lie here with him, the smell of clean sweat and sex clinging to both of them, and just feel. Nothing more.

"Were you maybe a little jealous of him, Jesse?" she asked, her voice lazy and languid even to her own ears.

"Were you maybe a little into him, Rachel?" Once again the words flowed easy and slow. No accusation. No anger.

Neither question was answered—neither needed to be. They both knew without saying. Jesse wasn't jealous, because he knew there was no reason. And Rachel didn't want Finn, because she knew she already had something infinitely better.

"I wish you could stay here tonight," she said, turning her head into his shoulder.

"If I find the energy to hide my car down the block," he answered, "I just might."

"Really?"

"Of course, you do know that means putting on clothes."

Well, that sounded like a rotten idea from every angle. "How averse are you to risking my dads potentially walking in on us naked?"

Jesse's laugh was like music. "A robe at least, Rach, so I can move my car. Then I'll come back to you, and your dads won't know the difference. Otherwise they might try to remove a part of my anatomy you've grown particularly fond of."

"Your vocal cords?"

His amused snort made her smile. "Oh, no. You don't get to fuck like that and then feign innocence, little girl. Admit it—admit you crave me."

Rachel bit his shoulder. "If you're going to go," she said, "then hurry up, so you can come back sooner."

Jesse groaned and buried his head against her neck. "But I'm comfortable here."

"I'm all wet and sticky," she protested. Now that her skin was starting to cool, her sweat-slick skin was making her chilly.

"Just the way I like you." He raised his head slightly and kissed the corner of her mouth.

"I want to take a shower."

"Fabulous idea. Will you start the water, or shall I?"

She giggled and pushed at him until he let her up. "You can join me," she said, "_after_ you move your car. Not before."

"Spoilsport."

"Will it make you feel better if I promise a shower will take the curl out of my hair?"

His answering chuckle was warm and soft, and it sent ripples of pleasure up her spine. "Look in the mirror before you start the shower," he suggested. "Sweat and your pillow and my hands already took care of that."

Rachel squeaked and clapped her hands to her head. Seriously? It had to look absolutely awful by now.

"It's called sex hair, babe, and you definitely have it," he said, leaning toward her to press a kiss against her mouth. "So hot."

Well, when he put it that way... "Yours isn't so bad, either."

* * *

><p>Ballet Today<em> is not a real magazine (that I know of, anyway) but it sounded good so I tossed it in there. A huge thanks to all my sweet reviewers, especially those of you who review anonymously (i.e. without signing in) since I can't reply to anonymous reviews with a personal thank you.<em>

_New Note: That's right. Next week will be _**St. Berry Week II**_, courtesy of The Episode That Must Not Be Named. I've had a lot of messages from people asking if I'm planning on fixing Episode 5, and the answer is (don't shoot me, please) probably not. Look, I won't know until I see it, but I'm not sure it CAN be fixed, to be honest. Maybe by someone else with more imagination than me? Anyway, to riff on a famous quote by Adam from Mythbusters, because I reject Ryan Murphy's reality and substitute my own, that means a repeat of St. Berry Week! Offerings will include a second part to my Asian F fix (because people asked so nicely!) and something entitled "Run Jesse Run". (Yes, that would be a play on Run Joey Run and not that weird German film from the '90s). Just as before, any and all are welcome to join me in this flagrant disregard for reality. :-) _


	16. Asian F Part 2

_Okay, first off, Happy _**St. Berry Week II**_! For those who didn't see my note with the last chapter, I'm instituting another St. Berry Week in "honor" of this week's _**Episode That Must Not Be Named**_. Offerings this week will include the second part to my "Asian F" fix, something called "Run Jesse Run," and at least one new chapter to Scale the Glass Mountain. Maybe two, since the poor thing's been neglected of late. HOWEVER (please don't kill me!) I am probably not going to write a fix for this week's Episode That Must Not Be Named. I won't know until I see it, but I'm not at all sure it CAN be fixed. THAT BEING SAID. A little birdie told me someone else—someone we all know and love, if not worship—might be trying her hand at it. I won't say more than that. But anyone else willing to jump in St. Berry Week II with me, come on in! I wholly approve of flagrant disregard for Ryan Murphy's version of reality._

_Second, holy fuck, you guys are fucking amazing! I didn't think people would like my "Asian F" fix all that much because it was basically my own temper tantrum after sitting through that trainwreck of an episode. But that was without a doubt the biggest response for a chapter I've had so far, weird, huh? And because y'all asked so nicely, here's the second part!_

* * *

><p><strong>Proving Grounds Part 2<strong>

Everyone had regrouped outside the theater when Will and Hiram joined them, a recalcitrant Mercedes right behind. Leroy and Finn were back, both looking much more composed, and Will watched Hiram and his partner share a speaking glance.

"Everything all right?" Will asked generally, and he received a series of nods from his group. Tina and Brittany still looked a little shell-shocked, as did Kurt.

"Michael is _amazing_," Kurt said, shaking his head a little. "He's so smart, and he knows so much."

"He's probably been doing this a long time," Will responded. He actually didn't know anything about Rachel's director, but from watching the play and hearing the comments Michael made to his actors, he knew the man had to know what he was doing. He couldn't possibly put together something of this quality if he didn't. "Artie, your dream has always been to work behind the scenes. What did you think of listening to Michael talk to his actors?"

"Extremely helpful," Artie said with a smile. "He was never mean, but he said things and people listened."

"It's the mark of a true leader," Will agreed. "Someone who can garner support without bullying." It was a skill, in fact, that Will didn't necessarily know he had. Not like Michael did. He handled most kids well enough, but Rachel had always been a handful and Mercedes was proving to be even worse. Michael didn't seem to have trouble with Rachel, though. She was still herself—still boisterous, still overbearing—but she obeyed when he gave her direction. She hadn't balked when he ordered her backstage instead of letting her chat with her former classmates, and she didn't argue with him the few times he corrected her performance when she was on stage. Her confrontation with Jesse during the beating scene hadn't been entirely professional, and Will admitted that he probably would have taken her to task for breaking character and disrupting the performance like that. But Michael had not. He'd let her do what she felt she needed to do, and it had actually worked out quite well. The proof would come during the next workshop and on opening night, when Jesse would either learn from the ordeal or revert to his previous behavior. He suspected that there would be no return to the less-believable performance—seeing Jesse St. James falter for any reason was beyond unusual, and now that he had been shown that he _could_ do this, Will suspected there would be no more trouble. But, again, there was no telling until the next performance.

Would they talk about it, he wondered? Jesse had been in Rachel's dressing room when Will went to fetch a wayward Mercedes. Did they often come together after a performance to discuss what had gone well and what still needed improvement in their eyes? He wouldn't put it past them. While Michael probably debriefed with his cast after every workshop, that didn't mean the actors couldn't have their own opinions. Rachel and Jesse were two of the most opinionated people he knew. It made sense that they would discuss things between the two of them. But Jesse had sounded _so_ upset when he threw an angry _fuck __you_ at his director after that scene, and Will didn't know for sure whether he'd be willing to talk about it. Jesse St. James was an extremely complicated individual, and it wasn't always clear what might set him off. Had he and Rachel ever discussed her disastrous decision to triple-cast him with Puck and Finn in that terrible "Run Joey Run" video? Or Jesse's defection (re-defection?) to Vocal Adrenaline for Regionals that same year? Or did they merely sweep things under the rug, pretending that they had never happened?

"Mr. Schue, what happens now?" Brittany asked, and she slipped her hand into Santana's.

"We're going back to the hotel for a little while, and then to dinner. Rachel and Jesse will be there, so you can talk to them about the performance and any questions you might have." He paused. "Mercedes, you and I will be having a talk when we get back to the hotel. I am very disappointed in your behavior today, and it ends _now_."

"Not interested," she said stonily, crossing her arms over her chest.

Will raised his eyes and caught Hiram's worried glance. "Come on," Rachel's father said, motioning to the other kids. "Let's head out. They'll catch up."

More than grateful for the two Berry men and their help, Will braced himself for this confrontation. He understood that Mercedes was jealous—honestly he got that. Rachel had always overshadowed her, and there was nothing they could do about that. Rachel was just a bigger star. She shone brighter, and worked harder, and she had achieved something Will suspected Mercedes might never win. What Mercedes didn't seem to understand was that it wasn't personal. It was about talent and drive, not entitlement. Michael hadn't picked Rachel because she told him to. He'd picked her because she was the best person to play this part.

"Look, Mercedes," he said once the other kids had moved a safe distance down the street, "I know you don't want to hear this, but I'm afraid you don't really have a choice. What you did back there was inexcusable. You can't talk like that to anyone, but Rachel was supposed to be your friend. What happened to you, Mercedes? Where did this attitude come from?"

"I don't need to justify myself to you!" Her broad, pretty face contorted with anger. "It's none of your business!"

"It is when your behavior reflects poorly on McKinley High and New Directions when we're guests in someone else's place of business." Will rubbed his forehead with the palm of one hand. "Those things you said to Rachel were absolutely appalling. What possibly could have made you say them?"

"Rachel always gets what she wants!" Mercedes yelled. In another city they might be drawing attention from the people passing by on the sidewalk, but here in New York they merited little more than uninterested sideways glances. "She always gets _everything_!"

"She's talented," Will said, wishing there was something else he could say—something better. Mercedes had never accepted Rachel's talent as superior to her own, and he was okay with that most of the time. They were so different, after all, that it was nearly impossible to compare them. Only when they went up against each other for the same purpose—like auditioning for the part of Maria in West Side Story—could a true comparison be made. Artie hadn't really talked to him about those auditions, but Emma and Coach Bieste had. They said the two were too closely matched vocally to make a call, and they had been planning to double-cast the role before Rachel gave it up. Will had suggested gently—and only after the fact, as he had not been part of the audition process—that they might have given the girls a task other than singing. A musical production did require excellent voices, but Broadway greats were called triple-threats for a reason. They needed to be able to act and dance as well as sing. Having Mercedes and Rachel do all three before picking a Maria might have been a good idea.

But that was all in the past now, and Will wasn't going to beat a dead horse unless Mercedes made him.

Which it looked like she was going to do.

"_I__'__m_ talented!" she protested, jabbing a thumb into her chest.

"Rachel works hard at what she does."

"I'm good enough that I don't have to." Mercedes glared at him as if daring him to disagree.

"I disagree."

Will turned quickly, surprised by the voice that came from behind him. "Mr. Meyer," he said, "I have to apologize for the— "

"Don't apologize," Michael said. He rubbed a hand through his frizzy hair. "You didn't do it, and I've worked with kids enough to know that they can slip away from even the most watchful eye." He looked carefully at Mercedes, and Will could see the discerning gleam in his eye. "I don't know what you said to my stars—Rachel wouldn't repeat it, nor would she let Jesse—but I know you said something." He was quiet again for a moment. "Come with me."

Will brought up the rear, following Mercedes and Michael back into the theater. Michael sat in the director's seat and waved Will down next to him. "Climb up there," he said, pointing Mercedes toward the stage. "Go on—go. You want a chance to be noticed? Get up there."

Mercedes looked distinctly unsure for a moment, but then she took a deep breath as if steeling herself. She climbed onto the stage, every inch of her exuding furious teenage defiance.

"I don't know if you really want to do this," Will murmured, careful that his words did not carry through the theater.

"It's fine," Michael assured him. "I see it all the time in open auditions—the sense of entitlement, the frustration at never getting picked. Is she any good?"

"Vocally, she's quite strong," Will admitted. "As much as I hate to say it, Jesse actually clued me in to a problem with her I hadn't even noticed."

"Which is?"

"She doesn't work for it. She's content to sit back on her talent and expect the world to cater to her. Jesse called her lazy last year when we hired him for a short while as a consultant, and I didn't agree with him at the time but he did get me thinking."

Michael shuddered. "I couldn't do what you do—all those kids, all the time. This is a little bit of a departure for me; I'm used to working with adults more than children. Rachel's one of the youngest in the cast—maybe _the_ youngest." He frowned in concentration. "I can't remember. Anyway, even adult actors can behave every bit as badly as the most spoiled five-year-old, but I'm their employer, not their teacher. I don't have to put up with that shit, and they know it. I can't imagine what that must be like, having to buoy their self-confidence while dealing with their attitudes. Maybe I can give you a hand with this one, though; she seems to be a handful."

"Be my guest." Will settled back into his chair and let the professional take over. Maybe hearing the truth from an authority figure other than himself would make her more willing to believe it.

"Okay," Michael called, and he didn't bother turning on his microphone since there was no music or ambient noise he had to propel his voice over. "Let's hear it—whenever you're ready."

"There's no mic."

A satisfied smile flickered over Michael's mouth. "Neither Rachel nor Jesse complained about that when I had them do it. Their voices were strong enough that I heard them just fine without amplification."

Mercedes scowled fiercely. "My pipes are ten times as strong as hers!"

"Don't tell me that. Your words seriously have very little weight here. Show me what you can do, or get off my stage."

Mercedes launched immediately into an R&B number, something she'd sung for glee club a week or so ago. She sounded just like she always had—powerful and strong, good pitch—but no better.

After less than two lines, Michael clicked on his microphone. "Stop," he ordered. "Cut. Quit it—that's all wrong."

Mercedes' silence was dangerous.

"I've no doubt you think wailing to an electronic beat counts as music, but in my world it's a poor substitution," Michael said flatly. "Do something else."

"I _am_ my rhythm and blues!" Mercedes folded her arms and widened her stance as she prepared to fight the director.

"And that's all well and good if all you ever want to do is sing along in your car on your commute," Michael said blandly. "Show me your versatility—show me you can do something different." He flicked his eyes to the side, and Will followed the glance. Sure enough, Rachel and Jesse stood together in the shadows a few rows back, watching the scene unfold on stage. Rachel had been crying in her dressing room but it was impossible in the semi-dark theater to see if she still was. She was squeezing Jesse's hand tightly, and she didn't look too willing to let go.

"When Jesse and Rachel came to me, they'd been trained to sing like musical theater stars. This is a Broadway show, but it's not _that __kind_ of Broadway show. I made them audition with rock and roll; made them prove to me that they could become rock stars, not just Broadway stars. They did it, and they got the parts they wanted." He paused. "Now you do the same. Give me something outside your comfort zone. Show me you can bend."

Mercedes looked about ready to murder someone, and Will was just grateful she didn't seem to notice the two extra pairs of eyes watching her. She rubbed her palms on her jeans and began "Take Me or Leave Me" from Rent, which wasn't necessarily a huge departure for her. It _was_ technically part of the Broadway catalogue, but it wasn't a classic show tune. She was obeying the letter of the directive but not the spirit; Will had no doubt that Rachel would have immediately chosen the polar opposite of whatever she had tried the first time. He didn't know Jesse all that well, but he had faith that Vocal Adrenaline had prepared the kid for almost anything.

She didn't do a bad job; he couldn't say she sang poorly. But Will could tell from looking at Michael that she wasn't good _enough_. The star quality wasn't there—the little spark that Rachel possessed, that thing that caught the eye and held it, demanding attention without words. Mercedes didn't have it.

There was no applause when the song ended. Not that there should have been, but Will felt Mercedes might have expected it. She did not look pleased as she caught her breath after her solo rendition of a song she had once performed with Rachel. Michael was silent for quite some time before he leaned back in his seat. He pulled a heavy copy of the script off the table and held it out to his side. "Jesse," he called, "take this up to her. I want you to run the woodruff scene with her, up until the song."

"Oh _hell_ no!" Mercedes stepped back, as if trying to distance herself from Jesse, who squeezed Rachel's hand and crossed to Michael, leaning over Will to take the script. "I am not running lines with St. Jerk!"

Michael ignored the nickname and Jesse only looked amused. "Kid," Michael said, "if you really want to be part of the entertainment business, you're going to have to learn to deal with people you don't like. Yes, casts can often become close, sometimes substituting for families for the duration of a run. But that doesn't always happen, and we don't cast shows on the basis of who gets along and who doesn't. We cast on talent, and talent alone. Now, are you going to run the scene with him or not?"

"No," Mercedes said flatly. "There's no point. This isn't real—it's not _for_ anything."

"It's not an audition for this play, no," Michael said. "But I want you to listen and really pay attention to me. Producers and directors—we have _long_ memories. I stole Jesse out from under another director when he let me sit in on his auditions. Don't kid yourself—that guy saw the same thing I did in Mr. St. James, and he's going to remember him when he's casting his next play. And the next one. And the one after that. Even though Jesse didn't get the other part, his audition wasn't wasted. Just like your time with me might not have been wasted if you were willing to put in the effort." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms loosely over his chest. It wasn't an angry gesture—he was calmly telling it like it was, as far as Will was concerned. "You have a nice voice, kid. That's undeniable. So do plenty of soccer moms, and accountants, and schoolteachers, and scientists. A nice voice isn't going to get you anywhere. It won't even get you on American Idol—they want a gimmick, something memorable about you. And trust me, a bad attitude doesn't count." He shook his head. "I know the truth isn't always pretty. Far better for you to hear it from your teacher and I now, though. I can't comment on your acting ability since you won't show me, but this I can say: the attitude needs to go. You will never make it as anything in this industry if you keep acting like you deserve it when you don't. Lauren—the blond girl who plays Ilse in this play—has an attitude, but yours takes the cake. Seriously. She's jealous of Rachel, but she doesn't expect to be handed anything and neither should you. You have to work hard, and earn everything ten times over before you make it in this business."

"_She_ didn't!" Mercedes snapped, pointing viciously at the darkened figure of Rachel standing off to the side. "Jesse got her an audition, she told us so herself!"

Will opened his mouth to intervene—Michael had shown remarkable patience, really, but this was getting ridiculous. He had invited the kids to watch a workshop, not to give individual attention to a girl who clearly didn't appreciate the time he was spending with her—but the director waved him to silence. "I asked my cast for recommendations," he said, "which sometimes happens in this business and sometimes doesn't. The rest Rachel did on her own. If Jesse had recommended you to me, I wouldn't have taken you. Not even for one of the other parts—Thea or Anna. I'd also have considered long and hard before ever asking Jesse's opinion again. He put himself on the line by recommending Rachel, but she was more than worth it. She's always one of the first to the theater for rehearsals and she's never late. She gives her all, every minute, and always tries her best to do what I ask of her. She shares her opinions, but in the end she respects my authority as the director. Yes, she's young. Yes, she's inexperienced, and she makes mistakes. But those things can be worked with. If I may be blunt, no director in his right mind would touch an attitude like yours with a ten-foot pole."

* * *

><p>"You okay?"<p>

Rachel shrugged and lifted her eyes to her father. "I thought this was such a great idea at first. Bringing New Directions to New York, letting them see this world they want to be part of."

"And now you're not so sure?"

"It's just turned into a huge mess. I'm starting to think that maybe Jesse was right."

Leroy chuckled and tucked her under his arm as they sat in the lobby of his hotel. Hiram had stayed with the New Directions kids as a favor to Mr. Schuester, and they would be meeting the group—and Jesse, who had stayed with Michael at the theater to discuss the beating scene now that he wasn't so upset—for dinner in a little while. It was almost time to head to the restaurant, but Leroy wanted a chance to talk to his daughter alone, without Jesse or Finn hovering somewhere in the background. "What was Jesse right about this time?"

He honestly didn't mind the kid—not really. Jesse had proven, this time around, to be much matured. If Leroy or Hiram at all suspected another incident like his return to Vocal Adrenaline two years ago might happen, they wouldn't have allowed the boy back into Rachel's life, no matter how much she begged. It was their job as parents to make the difficult decisions until she turned eighteen and legally could do it for herself. But Jesse had been nothing but polite as far as Leroy and Hiram knew, expressing eagerness both to work with her again and to move past the difficulties of their previous relationship.

Leroy wasn't stupid. He could see that Jesse wanted to be his daughter's boyfriend again. But he wasn't pressuring her—or so Rachel promised—and that alone made Leroy much more comfortable with the idea of them working together. Still, after witnessing today's workshop and then talking with Finn, he knew something had to change. They couldn't continue like this. It wasn't fair to anybody.

"Jesse said I need to think about leaving the past in the past," Rachel said, chewing idly on a hangnail as she spoke. Her brow was creased as she stared into the darkness outside the big lobby windows, and she looked like she was wrestling with something more painful than the hangnail. "He initially wasn't a big fan of the idea of bringing Mr. Schue and everyone to New York. Said it would be like rubbing their faces in our success, but I didn't see it that way. I didn't _mean_ it that way."

"Of course you didn't, sweet pea." He rubbed her shoulder through the hot pink peacoat she was wearing. "You're so sincere, no one could possibly suspect you of ulterior motives. Plus, I hate to break it to you, but you're a terrible liar."

Rachel laughed a little and she leaned into his arm. Leroy was glad of the chance to get his daughter all to himself for a moment. It didn't happen often, especially now that she was living so far away. He and Hiram had talked at length, and finally decided that they would wait to see whether this project took off before making any permanent plans about the future. If it was clear after opening that Rachel's play was a success, then they would take the chance and move to the city. It made little sense for them to drop everything and move to New York when there was a chance the show might close after a few weeks or a month. Not that he really thought it would—not now that he had seen the workshops and witnessed the hype for himself. Those crowds prowling outside the theater for a chance to view a workshop weren't messing around. Michael had created something special here, and Leroy had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to be picking up some change of address forms pretty soon. Not that he minded. It was distinctly unsettling, having his teenage daughter so far away. She was living with Jesse and his aunt in Brooklyn until he and Hiram moved, and while he trusted Jesse's aunt, he missed his little girl.

"Jesse thinks I need to keep my eye on the future, not the past. He says I shouldn't keep worrying about what Mercedes and the rest of them think; that they don't matter anymore. Not really."

"He's an arrogant little prick," Leroy said, more to get a rise out of Rachel than anything else, "but he's right sometimes. Honey, those things Mercedes said in your dressing room—you know they're not true, right?"

"Then why won't you sit through the whole show?"

The question was so quiet Leroy almost didn't catch it. She was talking to her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. He sighed and pulled her closer, wishing he could ruffle her hair like he'd done so often when she was little. The year she turned twelve she expressly forbid it, complaining that he was messing up her 'do. Sometimes, though, his hand still twitched to rub her hair, just as his head sometimes forgot just how grown-up she was becoming. "Rachel, you know I don't think there's anything wrong with what you're doing. It's your body, and you're old enough to make responsible choices about what you do with it. Michael sat down with our family, remember, and talked about this before we signed our contracts. How there was definitely some risqué material in the play, but he believed in it strongly. We trusted him, and we trusted that you would be strong enough to say no if you were ever uncomfortable with something he asked you to do."

"I've never been uncomfortable," she said, raising her eyes to his. She looked so much like Hiram, and Leroy had to smile. When Shelby was pregnant, he and Hiram had talked a lot about whose biological child they thought Rachel was, and which of them she'd end up looking like. It wasn't like it was going to be hard to guess once she was born, after all. Leroy had decided long before the birth that he hoped the baby was Hiram's. Then, every time he looked at their child, he'd also see his partner. Lo and behold, that's what he saw now when he looked in Rachel's big soft eyes. She was undoubtedly Shelby's daughter, but there was a great deal of Hiram in her as well. "Jesse's asked me before, too, but the answer is always the same. I trust him, and I trust Michael. They make me feel so safe."

"That's good," Leroy said with a sigh. "They're the ones you need to trust, just like they need to trust you."

"That doesn't explain why you won't sit through the show."

"I just…" Leroy rubbed his head with his knuckles. He felt incredibly awkward, and didn't know what to do with his hands. "Sweet pea, you're always going to be my little girl. Sometimes when I come down the stairs in the morning, I still expect to see you spilling cereal all over the breakfast table as you get ready for a day at kindergarten. It's not easy to admit that you're growing up. I watch as much as I can, I really do. Hiram is more…more academic about these things. He loves you, but he's capable of pushing the thought of you as his daughter aside and just focusing on the play. I can't do that. I'm sorry, honey. I would if I could. I'm not ashamed of you, or angry, or in any way upset about what you're doing. It's not dirty, despite what Hiram told me Mercedes said. But it makes me too uncomfortable to watch."

"I guess I can understand that," Rachel said slowly. She rested her head against his shoulder, staring out into the darkness of the city. "Would it make you feel better if I came home for a while and spilled some cereal on the breakfast table?"

Leroy chuckled. "You know," he said, "it just might." On impulse, he reached out a hand and ruffled her hair.

"Daddy!" she scolded, and swatted him away. "We should probably go."

"One more thing," Leroy said as she stood. He held up his hands, making her giggle as she leaned back and heaved, hoisting him to his feet. "We need to talk about Finn."

Rachel dropped one of his hands but kept the other as he guided her out of the hotel and into the crisp New York evening. "I wondered if that might come up," she admitted.

"He was miserable today, Rachel. I honestly don't know what's going to happen when you see him again."

"I don't know either." She bit her lip as they began walking up the street. "I told Jesse I didn't think he'd ever speak to me again."

"You know Jesse's part of the problem, right?"

Rachel said nothing.

"Sweet pea, I'm not trying to tell you how to live your life. You're old enough now to do that on your own. But…I need to know you understand just what's going on here, and what's at stake."

"I do, daddy." She squeezed his hand and leaned against his arm as they strolled slowly up the street. "I know what Jesse wants. He's made that perfectly clear. But he's also said that he's not going to push me, and I believe him. Even if I never break up with Finn—even if I marry him—Jesse isn't going anywhere."

Leroy winced a little. "Can we please not bring up the topic of marriage quite yet? I'm still getting used to the idea of you having a job. One thing at a time, if you don't mind."

Rachel's answering giggle was like bells. "Yes, dad."

"So tell me, then." Leroy paused at a red light, watching the traffic ooze slowly through the intersection. This was a big, bustling, _moving_ city. Nothing ever seemed to stand still. It fit Rachel well; she needed the distraction and the frantic pace, needed the noise and the lights. Small-town life would strangle her, and he loved her enough to let her go. The question was, would Finn? "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "Finn's a good guy, he really is. I don't want to hurt him."

"Unfortunately, that ship's already sailed, sweet pea."

"I know." Rachel ducked her head against a rush of cold wind, but she continued to talk. "I'm going to talk to him, of course. If he'll talk to me. I can't make this decision on my own."

"You may have to," Leroy cautioned. "You can't spend your life doing what other people want you to do. Whatever you choose, it's going to hurt both you and Finn. I don't think there's a way out of that at this point."

"I didn't realize it until today," Rachel said, "but I honestly don't see a future for us. I was too busy with rehearsals, too wrapped up in this adventure, to really think about it. But what sort of future could we have, really? I used to think he was really talented—and he is, don't get me wrong. But he's not…good _enough_." The words sounded like they were almost torn from her, she was so unwilling to say them. "I care about him; I really do. But being here…there are so many actors in this city, and he's just…"

"I know, honey. I get it." Leroy squeezed her hand.

"And if we can't both be following a show business dream, it's not fair to expect him to move to New York for me." She shook her head, gleams of light from the streetlamps shining along the dancing strands of hair. "I mean, realistically, I'm going to be working six nights a week, plus two matinees. If he went to school or got a job, he'd probably be working days. We'd never see each other."

It was a horribly mature argument to put forth, and Leroy was inordinately proud of her. He'd prefer if she were willing to say she wasn't in love with the boy, but this was a big step in the right direction. "You don't see each other now," he said, prodding gently. "How does that feel?"

A sigh left her, the breath hanging visibly in the night air for a moment. "It should feel worse than it does. I know that. I guess if I'm honest, what hurts the most is _knowing_ he's not paying attention when I call."

"And how do you know that?"

"I just do," she said stonily. "Besides, this trip completely proves it. I've explained the plot of my play to him dozens of times. I've gone on and on about my character, and how I feel like she's so much like me on the inside even though we're really very different. I've talked about my problems with Lauren, and how Jesse's been there for me through all of it." She shrugged her shoulders. "And it's as if…as if I'm talking to a dial tone. Nothing registers. He had no idea what he was going to see when he walked into my theater today, and you know that as well as I do."

"I do," Leroy admitted. "If I can be honest with you, it's one of the things that's troubled me most about your relationship with him."

"His inattention?"

"That's part of it, yes." They were approaching the restaurant now—an Italian place Michael had recommended because they had semi-private alcoves where bigger groups could sit comfortably. "You and he seem to have very little in common, honey, especially when you take New Directions out of the equation. You usually support his desire to play sports, but they don't interest you. I can guarantee that he feels the same way about this new adventure of yours. He likes to sing well enough, but he doesn't want to be a performer and he doesn't know how to deal with the idea of sharing you. I don't think it's even really sunk in yet, despite watching the show this afternoon, that this is your new reality. His, too, if you decide to continue like this. He's going to have to deal with other men putting their hands on you, and fans wanting your attention, and everything else that goes with this business. You've always been so mature for your years, and I have no doubt that you can handle it. But can he?"

"No," Rachel said immediately, without a thought. "He can't. Maybe he thinks he can, but he can't. It's worse this time because it's Jesse, and I realize that. But he'd still be almost as upset if my costar was a stranger he'd never met."

"Then, sweetheart, I think you have your answer."

* * *

><p>Dinner was awkward, to say the least. Puck nearly caused a fight by making an appreciative comment about her breasts, and Rachel didn't know who looked more like they were going to kill him—her fathers, Jesse, Finn, or Mr. Schue. She was able to calm everyone down—with Kurt's help—only to then be faced with a ream of questions from Tina about how it had felt to do something like that on stage. Rachel supposed she knew those questions were only natural; Michael had warned her that the press would likely want to talk about that particular scene more than any other when it came time to start giving interviews. But she had yet to talk to Finn, and she knew he desperately did not like this topic of conversation.<p>

New Directions was in New York to learn, though, and she couldn't in all conscience shoot down the curious questions. So she tried to answer as honestly as possible, knowing as she did so that Finn was actually paying attention for once and he wasn't liking anything he heard.

"Weren't you, like, embarrassed to take off your clothes in front of so many people?" Tina asked, blushing a little. Though she had dropped the fake stutter, she was still nervous sometimes. _I __remember __when __I __used __to __get __nervous_. Jesse's words to her from their first music store meeting filtered back into her ears, and she smiled slightly. Who knew that she would so soon be in his shoes, wanting to say those words to someone else?

"Not really," she said honestly, knowing Finn wouldn't be pleased with her answer. "I knew from the beginning that there was a love scene in the play, and I tried to go into it as professionally as possible. It's part of my job, as weird as that may sound. Michael walked us through it with step-by-step directions the first few times, and it was honestly just like any other piece of choreography."

Okay, that wasn't _quite_ true. It wasn't just like any other piece of choreography, and both she and Jesse had known that going in. Maybe with another costar it would be; she didn't know. She'd never rehearsed with Jesse's understudy, never had to do anything this intimate with anyone else. And with Jesse...well, as much as she tried, she could never completely forget that he wasn't just Melchior on stage. He was _Jesse_, and always would be. When he kissed her during their first run-through of the hayloft scene, it had been like...like coming home. Like no time at all had passed between their first kiss—appropriately enough also on a stage—and now. He tasted the same, his mouth warm and familiar, and it had been all she could do to push him away, reciting the lines as they were meant to be said, when what she really wanted to do was pull him nearer and kiss him back.

It was a forbidden desire, though, even now. She technically still belonged with Finn, despite how empty the label of _boyfriend_ seemed every time she called or Skyped with him. He was hundreds of miles away and criminally inattentive, but he was hers in a way Jesse was not. Jesse was strictly off-limits, except on stage.

And those stage kisses and caresses had kept her sane—far more than she was willing to admit even to herself. It was unspoken, but she knew Jesse knew it, too—knew how closely they were tied, character and actor, and how she felt his every touch not only as Wendla, but as Rachel, too. It was something they never admitted to each other, because they didn't need to. Knowing was enough. Jesse understood, maybe even in ways she didn't, how his stage touches soothed her loneliness when she was missing Finn. At first it had been a substitute for what she thought she really wanted, but now she was beginning to realize the truth.

It had been Jesse all along. His touch, his eyes, his voice...all of it. The way he held her when she cried. The way he _never_ was inattentive, never backed out on plans, and never failed to make her feel better when she was frustrated or hurting. He'd been her boyfriend for a while now, without the title and without the benefits (on-stage simulations notwithstanding), and all the while he'd been patiently waiting for her to make the decision and tell him he could have the job for real.

It was an extremely surreal position she now found herself in. She—Rachel Berry, the joke of McKinley High—was poised for what her director called surefire success. She was being prepped for interviews with the press. Random strangers were asking to marry her. She woke up every day in New York City and headed off to a _theater_ to work. Nobody was harassing her—snapping her bra, throwing slushies in her face, or drawing inappropriate pictures of her on the bathroom walls. No one was mocking her with cruel names, or shooting down her ideas out of hand. Michael listened to her when she spoke, and if he vetoed her, he gave her a valid reason. Maybe strangest of all though, she had _two_ boys vying for her attentions, and she needed to make a final choice between them. A year ago, such a proposition would have sounded ludicrous even to her own ears. She wasn't popular. Boys weren't exactly lining up to take her out. But she'd finally won Finn (again) after months and months of yearning. It had taken a lot to finally become his girlfriend again, and did she really want to give that up now? After all it had cost her?

Jesse's arm brushed lightly against hers as he shifted in his seat at the table, and Rachel had the answer to her question. Undoubtedly, indubitably, _yes_. It would hurt—her father was right enough about that. So much of the last few years had been spent mooning after Finn, and if she broke up with him now, she would be closing the door on that part of her life forever. But wasn't it more or less over anyway? She didn't go to McKinley anymore—instead, a tutor came to the theater and she and the two other members of the cast still in school received haphazard lessons during breaks. She wasn't even living with her fathers, though once they decided to move to the city she probably would return to their care for at least a little while. Part of her wanted to be out on her own, in her own apartment, but another part of her still hung back, not quite ready to make such a big step.

But Jesse—that _was_ a step she was ready to make. Ready and very, very willing. She glanced at him, sitting next to her at the oval table, and his gentle, knowing smile made her tingle down to her toes. Calling things off with Finn was going to be hard, but she knew as Jesse's hand found hers under the table and squeezed gently, that it would be _so_ worth it.

"I trust Michael," she said, answering Tina's latest question. "I trust Michael, and I trust Jesse. Michael would never have us do anything that was inappropriate, and - "

Mercedes' snort silenced all conversation at the table. Rachel clenched her jaw. She honestly wasn't thrilled to see that her former rival was still around—not that Mr. Schuester could have reasonably left her alone, even in a hotel room—but she wasn't going to let Mercedes win. Jesse was right; she needed to put the past behind her, and that meant not letting high school taunts hit home, no matter how thin-skinned she wanted to be. "Nothing inappropriate?" Mercedes mocked. "Riiight."

"Inappropriate for the _show_," Rachel said, glaring hotly. Anger was good—it was better than crying. Jesse squeezed her hand again in a gesture of solidarity, but he didn't step in to immediately rebuff Mercedes' words. Rachel was grateful. She had been caught off guard in her dressing room, and she needed a chance to do this now on her own. "I'm sorry if it offends your personal sensibilities, but there's nothing wrong with an honest portrayal of sensuality for artistic purposes." She suspected she'd lost Finn with that last jumble of multi-syllable words, and maybe that was all for the best. "We tried a lot of things with this show, some more innocent and some more..."

"Raunchy," Jesse supplied blandly.

"Right." Rachel glanced at him, and his eyes twinkled at her. He was royally enjoying himself. Well, she thought, at least someone should be. "Anyway, Michael's never afraid to try anything. But he'll look at it and make his decision, and a lot of things we tried we decided weren't appropriate. At one point early on, the hayloft scene had been written as a rape. Michael made the call that that wasn't going to work for the tone of our play, but neither would something more romantic and traditionally tasteful. The entire production is stark and raw and immediate. It wouldn't be right to change that for this one scene—to make it flowery and sweet, with a chaste fade-to-black and no follow-up." She shrugged. "It's what the story calls for, so I'm fine with it. I didn't have a problem with the underwear scenes in Rocky Horror because that was part of the story. It's the same here."

"You were in a slip in Rocky Horror!"

It was Finn's voice, which Rachel had not expected. Her head snapped up, and as her brown eyes met his she was honestly a little surprised—not by the hurt in his eyes, but by the anger. "It was practically a dress—longer than some of the stuff you wear to school some days."

Rachel wanted to correct his use of the present-tense—she _wore_ short skirts to school in the past, she didn't _wear_ them there now—but she refrained. Maybe this was all part of the problem.

"That's not the same thing as...letting it all hang out on stage. Letting _him_ touch you like that. Letting people take _pictures_ of it!"

She understood his reasoning to a point, but his furious tone and the way he demeaned her work was absolutely unacceptable. Rachel curled her free hand into a fist, squeezing it against her leg, glad of the table between them. "First of all," she snapped, "taking pictures or video during a performance is illegal, so if it happens, I'm not 'letting' anyone do it, they're breaking the law. Second, there's nothing indecent about my promotional photos, and you know it."

"Finn - " Mr. Schue tried to cut in, but Rachel saw Leroy's hand reach out and still her teacher's remonstrance. A flash of thankfulness filled her—he was giving her a chance to do this on her own, just as Jesse had.

"Third, Jesse is my costar. He was cast in his role, and then I was cast in mine. If he was a stranger you'd still be unhappy, so his presence doesn't figure into anything."

"He's your ex!" Finn exploded. "And he had his hands all over you! Didn't you learn anything from that stupid Run Joey Run video?"

That brought Rachel up short. She'd cried for what felt like days after that idiotic stunt, and she'd mostly cried for Jesse. Not herself. She'd cried for the pain she put him through, for her own stupid wish to be noticed and how it had backfired so horribly. He'd been her boyfriend at the time, the one person who always stood up for her and took her side. And she'd paid him back by dancing and singing with Noah and Finn in a romantic, albeit silly, music video.

Was that how Finn felt now? The same way Jesse had, back then? Jesse had certainly had every right to be furious with her, but did Finn?

"It's not the same thing at all," Jesse said firmly, and his voice was so adamant that Rachel couldn't help but believe him. "That was a project she _chose_ to do. She didn't have to do any of it. This is her job. That was a stupid gamble for popularity and this is professional. I'm sorry if you don't like it, but Rachel is my costar and Michael is our director. _He_ makes the calls, not us."

"And how is this not a bid for popularity on a bigger scale?" Mercedes jumped in. Her verbal attacks seemed more and more opportunistic, as if she couldn't resist the opening Jesse and Finn had given her. "Mobs of people outside the theater, promotional material—it's all just a big grab for popularity."

Jesse drew a breath to refute her statement, but Rachel squeezed his hand under the table to still him. She had this. "Mercedes," she said softly, shaking her head just a little, "if you honestly can't see the difference, then you don't belong in this business." She raised her eyes to Leroy and gave him an encouraging smile, which he returned. "Finn, I want to talk to you outside for a moment, please."

Jesse squeezed her hand one more time as she rose, and she wanted to catch his eye or kiss his cheek—reassure him that everything would be all right. Soon, she told herself. Soon she'd be able to do just that.

But first, she had to deal with Finn.

The night seemed to have grown even colder, and Rachel shivered lightly in her shirt sleeves as she folded her arms and ducked her head, choosing a strategic spot where no one inside the restaurant could see them arguing. "Finn," she said quietly.

"Just say it—get it over with." He leaned up against the side of the building and refused to look at her. "Tell me how long you've been sleeping with him."

"Finn!" Anger roiled in the pit of her stomach. How could he possibly stand there and accuse her of that? She knew she was no angel, but he couldn't seriously accuse her of _that_. She'd been nothing but faithful, even in the face of Jesse's constant tempting presence, and she'd done it because she'd believed for the longest time that there really was a chance for her with Finn. She hadn't wanted to admit to herself that he wasn't good enough for Broadway and, without a shared interest like performing, there just wasn't enough between them to keep them together. So she'd persevered, deluding herself for far longer than she wanted to admit. It wasn't fair, though. Not to any of them.

"Just tell me how long!" he demanded.

"Never!" She hadn't wanted to yell, but he was pushing her and she didn't like it. "I've never touched Jesse like that except on stage!"

"It doesn't matter where it happens!" he shot back. His eyes were dark with his own anger. "You're supposed to be my girlfriend! How do you think that felt, having to sit there and watch him put his hands all over you?"

"It's a _play_," she stressed for the umpteenth time. "I take direction—I do what the script says. This is my job, Finn!"

"This is what he wanted all along." Finn kicked the wall. "He got us good, because you were stupid enough to fall for it. To trust him again, after everything."

"Don't you _dare_ question Jesse's intent," Rachel said, and her voice lowered dangerously. "He's been nothing but a supportive friend through all of this."

"Bullshit."

The unusual sound of a curse word coming from Finn brought Rachel up short. She narrowed her eyes. "It's true, though I certainly can't make you believe it if you don't want to. He's never offered an inappropriate touch or acted as anything but a close friend. Yes, it's possible he doesn't like my decision to stay with you, but he's never attempted to change my mind or break us up." She took a deep breath. It was now or never. "You did that on your own."

"Oh, no." Finn whirled, and for the first time ever, she stepped back from his swiftly-moving bulk. "You are not pinning this on me! I agreed to this long-distance thing. I _tried_ to make it work, but you were busy flashing whole theaters full of people the whole time!"

No one was there to stop her, and for the second time that day Rachel's hand connected with a male cheek. She had slapped Jesse purely to rile his temper and goad him into playing the scene as it was meant to be played—as she _knew_ he could play it. This slap was entirely different. The first had been calculated, but this one was pure anger.

"My work," she said, surprised that she kept her voice so low and even, "is _not_ dirty, and you have no right to demean it. Furthermore, I told you about it over and over again. I explained the plot to you I don't know how many times. I went into vivid detail after the first day Jesse and I blocked that scene. I _am_ pinning this at least partially on you, because you should have known well in advance just what you were getting into today. I told you, Finn, and you just refused to listen."

"How am I supposed to filter through everything you say, looking for the one or two important things?" he demanded.

Rachel just shook her head. Her dad had been right. Jesse had been right. Finn was part of her past, and she needed to leave him there. She'd been living a lie for a long time, and she needed to stop. Knowing it was a bad idea, she said what was in her head anyway. "Jesse would never say something like that to me."

"_Perfect_ Jesse," Finn taunted, "who cracked a _perfect_ egg on your head!"

"He's far from perfect," she said, though at the moment she wasn't entirely sure she believed it. "But he listens when I talk, and he doesn't act like everything I say is unimportant." She swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, Finn. I'm sorry I let this drag on so long. I'm sorry that everything I say is apparently too boring to listen to. I'm sorry things have to end this way."

"They don't." He raised his head, meeting her eyes for the first time since they stepped out of the restaurant. There was a red splotch on his cheek where she'd slapped him, and for a moment as his hound-brown eyes looked at her, she regretted the rash action. Yes, he'd hurt her, but she didn't have to retaliate. She was supposed to be more mature than that. "Come back home, Rachel. Come back to McKinley. You got to play dress-up on a New York stage for a little while. Wasn't that what you wanted? Come home to Lima with me and your dads now and everything can go back to the way it was."

Rachel took a step back. Was he really asking her that _now_? After everything she'd said—everything that had happened today? It was a ludicrous proposition, anyway. She couldn't go back. She'd outgrown everything about Lima, and there wasn't a place for her there anymore.

If there ever had been to begin with.

"I _am_ home," she said, and though her voice was small, she felt the words down to her toes. She was standing on a cracked sidewalk on a darkened street, and though they were blocks away she swore she could hear the traffic from Times Square even now. This city had got into her blood, like a parasite, and she wasn't going to give it up now. Not for anyone.

It was a ludicrous proposition from so many angles. She wasn't the same girl who had stood up in Miss Pillsbury's office months ago and refused to be cowed by Mercedes' temper tantrum. She wasn't even the same girl who had naively invited her former classmates to New York to see a workshop of her play. So much had happened in the intervening weeks—hell, in the past _day_. And now Finn seriously was asking her to turn back the clock, to return to what she had been before? Even if she wanted to, she knew it wasn't possible.

And, truth be told, she didn't _want_ to. It wasn't fair to ask it of her. This was _her_ city now, and it felt more like home to her than Ohio ever had. Yes, she missed her fathers. Sometimes she missed friends from Lima—mostly Kurt, who she talked to on the phone whenever she got a chance. But that didn't mean she wanted or needed to go whimpering back with her tail between her legs. Most of the time, she was perfectly happy. _Ecstatic_, in fact. She loved the smell of her theater—lacquer and wood and paint, and the faintest hint of stale cigarette smoke. The instant she was given a key, she turned her tiny white dressing room into a home away from home. They weren't allowed to paint, but she tacked yards of brightly-colored fabric over two of the walls and had, with the help of the boys in the cast, somehow finagled her thrift-store couch into the space. They had said it was far too big and wouldn't fit, but they didn't understand that even the laws of physics sometimes had to bend to Rachel Berry. What little space was left was filled with photos of her and her dads, and her and Jesse, and a growing number of her fellow cast members.

Maybe it was a hint she had ignored, but there were only two photos of Finn in the whole riotous mess, and none of them together.

There was something about this city, though, something that drew her in and wouldn't let her go. It was the frantic pace, the constant slew of things to do…but that wasn't all. Maybe there was something in the water. Rachel didn't know. But she knew that if she was ever forced to do what Finn was suggesting—leave New York and return to Lima—she wouldn't survive it. Something inside her would die. Other cities might lure her in for a while—LA, or London—but she knew deep in her heart that she would always return here. This was her home now. This was where she belonged.

"Finn," she said softly, "you can't ask me to do that."

"Why not?" he demanded. "You got what you wanted. Why can't it be my turn now?"

In that moment, Rachel truly began to feel sorry for him. The magnitude of the gulf between them had never been more apparent. He wasn't just ignoring her—it was like they were speaking two completely different languages. "It doesn't work like that," she said, quieter still. "Didn't you know—didn't you realize? Finn, when I left, it was for good. This isn't a game, and even if it was…I'm playing for keeps."

"Rachel – "

"Look, I'm sorry. I really am. I made assumptions—it sounds like we both did, and neither of us was right. I assumed you'd want to follow me, that your dream was Broadway just as much as mine was. I can see that that isn't true, and I'm sorry. You used to talk so much about getting out of Lima. That was part of the reason why you lied to me, sophomore year. When I won the lead in Cabaret and you tried to get me to rejoin the glee club instead? You didn't want to be a Lima Loser all your life, stuck in a dead-end job with a kid you never intended to have." She paused. "The kid part notwithstanding, what changed, Finn? You used to want something bigger than Lima—bigger than working for ten bucks an hour at Burt's auto shop. If that's what you really want to do, you have my blessing. But…what changed?"

Finn dropped against the side of the building again, leaning heavily on his shoulders, slouching in the orange glare of the streetlamp. "I don't know!" he said, rubbing a distracted hand up his other arm. "I don't know, okay? Just…I'm making money, okay? And I'm actually good at this. Burt says so. Do you have any idea what it's like for a guy like me—the only other thing I've ever been any good at is football."

Rachel felt the automatic urge rising up in her belly—the wish to comfort, to refute his view of himself with something more supportive. It was what she'd _always_ done for him, building him up when he felt badly. The fact that he never did it back hadn't ever really occurred to her until this moment, when she had to stop the words from leaving her mouth. She needed to stop telling him pretty things, because they weren't true. There was a line between support and coddling—Jesse and Michael had both shown her that in her months in the city, and she needed to break Finn's unhealthy reliance on her words. Usually right about now she'd be holding up his talent as a performer, insisting to him that there was, in fact, something else he was good at besides football and changing tires.

Except, it wasn't true. It wasn't true, and she couldn't keep lying to him—lying to _them_—any longer. Michael's earlier words to Mercedes echoed in her ears. Finn would probably be an excellent father and sing his kids to sleep someday, but he wasn't going to be tearing it up alongside her on Broadway. Not in this lifetime.

"I'm sorry," she said again. This wasn't her fault, but she couldn't stop saying it anyway.

"Is ten bucks an hour really so bad? With raises to come?" He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "How much are you making for doing…this…anyway?"

"You really don't want to know," she muttered.

"Figures."

"It's not _about_ the money, Finn!" Frustration began to wend its way through her again. "You don't understand—this is what I _need_ to do." She searched for an apt comparison, blinking rapidly as her mind fired through everything she knew about him. "If someone offered you a chance to play for the NFL, you wouldn't turn it down. Would you? Even if I asked you to?"

"That's different! Professional athletes don't go around taking their clothes off for money!"

Rachel threw up her hands. "Seriously, we're back to that? You have to figure out what's really bothering you here. Is it the fact that I'm doing what I love and I'm good at it? Is it my success? That I'm not giving up to go back to Lima with you?" She paused, eyeing him carefully. "Is it Jesse? Or that he's touched me—no matter how professional we are—in ways that you haven't?" Finn was dangerously silent, and Rachel didn't know if her next question was such a good idea. But she was all-in anyway; there was no point in holding back now. "What's really hurting here, Finn? Your heart? Or your pride?"

His reaction was instantaneous. He slammed away from the wall, and Rachel shrank back a step. But he wasn't reaching for her in anger as she'd slapped him. He stared at the ground, fists tense at his sides. "You're breaking up with me so that you can be with him," he said, each word dropping into the sudden silence between them like stones disrupting the glassy surface of a quiet lake. "Don't lie to me, and don't try to make excuses."

It was so true, and so wrong at the same time. Yes, Rachel was pretty sure she and Jesse would be back together before long. But that didn't negate everything she had just said—everything she had tried to explain to Finn. He just wouldn't—or couldn't—understand.

Her mind rolled back a year and more, to the beginning of their junior year. Sunshine Corazon, a Filipino exchange student, had been sent to an inactive crackhouse and then fled McKinley for the relative comfort of Carmel. It had been Rachel's own fault, and she could accept that. She wasn't even really ashamed of what she'd done, either. Jesse had only laughed when she told him the story. Jesse had understood.

But Finn—when Finn had deigned to forgive her, after the furor had finally died down, his forgiveness had come with a price. Unable to accept her assertion that she'd done it all for the _team_, because she liked the dynamic they shared and did not want new people horning in and changing things, he'd made her announce to New Directions that her motivations were entirely selfish.

And because she was young and desperate, because she wanted him, she'd done it.

He hadn't been completely wrong; that much she could admit. She _had_ ousted Sunshine because she wanted to keep her own place as New Directions' star secure. But that wasn't the only reason, which Finn clearly couldn't understand. He wasn't capable of grasping that people could have multiple motives for the same action. He'd assumed she was lying when she said she had done it for the group, and she had let him call her a liar because she thought that was the only way to keep him.

Well, not this time. It wasn't her fault that he wasn't able to comprehend the complexities of her thoughts and emotions. She felt and needed and wanted—too many things to count in any given moment. Finn was an altogether simpler human being. Like outdated computer software, he wasn't upwardly compatible. She could understand him, but it wasn't reciprocal. And she knew enough now to understand that that was no basis for a relationship.

"I care about Jesse," she said, trying to choose her words carefully. "I've told you that from the beginning. But he's not the reason I'm doing this. I've explained it to you as much as I can, and it doesn't seem to do any good. I'm sorry, Finn. I really am. But I can't be your girlfriend anymore. If we're being honest with ourselves, I'm not sure I ever really was."

"Because you wouldn't ever let me touch you!"

"No." She shook her head. "This isn't about sex. It's about a connection I wanted to believe in—so badly. But...it was never really there, was it? Or only on the one side."

"You're not pinning this on me."

Rachel felt suddenly tired. This conversation had gone on long enough, and she was done. If he didn't want to accept what she was telling him, that was his problem. Not hers. "I'm not pinning it on anyone," she said. "Not you, not me, and not Jesse either. It's just one of those things. You can believe what you want. You'll always have a soft spot in my heart, regardless."

With a deep breath, Rachel stopped talking. She was done—just like in improv, just like Michael always said, she knew the scene was over because she _felt_ it. Part of her wanted to reach out for him—touch his arm, kiss his cheek—but she held back. He was still angry, and she had no idea how he would react.

"...so what happens now?" His voice was quiet; sullen. He was admitting defeat only because she'd given him no other option.

"We go back in there," she said firmly, "and we act civil toward each other for the rest of dinner. And if we can't do that, we keep our mouths shut."

* * *

><p>The next day was their day off, but Jesse found her in her dressing room anyway, curled up on her squeaky couch with her laptop in reach. She'd never been in the habit of locking the door, and today was no exception. Jesse slipped inside, not looking a bit surprised to see her. She wasn't really surprised to see him, either.<p>

"I know you're always sad to see your dads leave," he said softly, sinking down on the opposite side of the big couch and not attempting to touch her. They hadn't spoken about her relationship status—or anything else, really—and Rachel knew the conversation was coming. Whether he would push the issue today or let her stew for a while, she didn't know. Jesse was a force of nature all to himself, and she readily admitted that there were times she had no idea what he might do.

"Yeah," she admitted, stretching slowly and curling up in a slightly different position.

"When are they moving out here, again?"

"As soon as Michael proves that we're a success." Rachel lifted one corner of her mouth. "I can't wait."

"So eager to get rid of me and my aunt?"

"You know that's not true."

"I know." He stretched out a leg and poked her calf gently with the toe of his shoe. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Did she? He wasn't talking about her dads anymore, she was pretty sure. "I don't know."

"Do you regret it?"

That was a difficult question, too. There were any number of things in her life she regretted, but she didn't think any of them were likely on Jesse's mind. She missed her dads, but she couldn't ever regret coming to New York. New Directions' trip to see her workshop had been filled with far more drama than she had intended, but both Kurt and Artie had thanked her for the experience, and if they got something out of it, she couldn't regret her decision. Finn? Part of her regretted ever crushing on him to begin with, and all of the heartache that had followed. But she didn't regret finally breaking up with him—couldn't regret that. It felt...freeing. She honestly felt lighter knowing that she wasn't tied down anymore—wasn't constrained by the limitations of a relationship that wasn't even really a relationship. She was free now to move forward—with Jesse, and with her life. Finn would probably still be upset for a while, but she hoped he would find a way to move on, too. Maybe with Quinn, whom she never really believed he'd completely gotten over.

"Not what you're thinking," she said finally, and she raised her eyes to him with a smile that felt maybe a little shy, though that was something she'd never been in her life.

"How do you know?" The words were uttered with a smile, one bigger and bolder than her own. He was beautiful—so beautiful. Strong and male, but that didn't stop her from thinking the word. Plenty of guys were good-looking, or hot, or handsome. Not many could pull off beautiful, though, and she thought Jesse did it wonderfully. He had pretty eyelashes, and her heart fluttered now as he trained his full gaze on her, never wavering. His arm shifted, and though the meaning of the gesture might not be obvious to anyone else, Rachel understood the invitation. She crawled forward and settled herself in the comforting curve of his body, his warm arms closing around her as she cuddled against him. He smelled like the laundromat—hot air and dryer sheets—and she knew she'd have clean clothes when they got back to his aunt's house. Jesse, oddly enough, loved doing laundry. It made no sense, because he was absolutely useless around the house otherwise. He claimed that waiting in the laundromat gave him time for psychological character development, but that didn't explain how meticulously her clothes were always folded, no matter how many times she told him he didn't need to do it.

"I don't regret you, Jesse," she said, nestling her cheek into the curve of his arm. "Or any of this."

"New York?"

"Not a bit."

"Good." He rubbed his nose gently in her hair, and she smiled. She didn't need things spelled out right now. It was clear enough what was going to happen—what was happening even now. There was no longer any limit on what she could allow Jesse to do, no limit on what she could do with him. Michael didn't care as long as it didn't impact their performance. Her fathers trusted her, but even if they didn't, they were miles away in Ohio. Jesse's aunt wasn't much of a chaperone, quite honestly. She kept the refrigerator stocked and enforced a curfew, but that was about it. Without Finn in the picture, there was nothing holding them back anymore.

"You know I love you, right?"

Rachel smiled into his sleeve. "I'm beginning to get the idea, yes."

"And you know I'm not going to push you."

"You never have." He was warm and perfect, and Rachel almost melted as she nuzzled into him. "I'll never understand the kind of patience you've mastered. When I think about the boy who threw a temper tantrum the first time he asked me to sleep with him and I said no..."

Jesse's laugh was warm and bright. "I'd like to think I've learned a lot since then."

"I think so. I see it every time I look at you. You're an amazing person, Jesse. In many ways."

"I've always been a lot of things," he said,tightening his arms around her. "Talented—pretty—some might even say amazing, yes. But I'll be honest and say I haven't always been a very good person. I never really needed to be, but you...you made me want to be better. Even if I didn't ever get you back, I wanted to be better for you."

"That makes me happy," Rachel admitted, "but I'm glad you didn't change too much, if I can be honest. If you weren't still devious, still cunning and full of yourself, you wouldn't be the Jesse I know and love."

I'm glad to hear that," he said, "because there's only so much I think I can change."

"I don't expect you to be anything but what you are." It was true, too. Unlike when she coddled Finn with pretty words to make him feel better, this was real. She loved Jesse from the beginning for his faults as well as his good points. Other people might be turned off by the haughty exterior, or the tactless comments, or the slight air of selfishness that hung about him. But Rachel thought she couldn't possibly find anyone more perfect for her if she tried. They were so similar—their faults mirrored each other's, as did their strong points. New Directions used to comment that they were even more obnoxious together than apart, and Rachel was honestly okay with that. People just didn't understand what it was like to be with someone who understood her so well and didn't look down on her for what he saw.

"I'm glad it's you," she said softly. The theater was so quiet on off days. She heard the heater click on.

"In what way?"

"My first real costar. Especially for something this personal. I know this show will eventually end, or we'll decide to leave it and do other projects. But it's my first, and I'll always be...it will always be special to me."

"Me, too." He chuckled into her hair. "We could always try hiring out as a team. A two-for-one deal—guaranteed chemistry between leads. I don't think it's ever been done."

Rachel giggled. "After a while, you know audiences would be coming to see us, not our characters."

"Probably." He paused. "It might cut down on the impromptu marriage proposals."

"Cut down? You mean, you think it's likely to happen again?"

"If it happened already while you're still literally unknown, I have no doubt it's going to keep happening."

"Maybe I should wear a decoy ring."

"Fabulous idea. I'll get you one."

Rachel laughed again and shoved his shoulder lightly. "No way. Knowing you, you'd pick something horribly ostentatious."

Jesse's snort was amused. "You're honestly going to sit there and tell me the girl with the pink rhinestone covered phone is suddenly judging my taste in jewelry?" His hand moved at her waist, tickling lightly, and she squealed, pulling away until he relented.

"Yes," she said, kicking his leg with her socked foot, "I _am_ questioning your taste in jewelry. A cell phone and a ring are two very different things, you know. But you like to be flashy no matter what you're doing."

"Flashy? Me?" Jesse glanced down at his clothes in a wordless argument. Rachel supposed maybe she hadn't used the right word, but she wasn't backing down anyway. She'd meant it. He wasn't dressed in bright colors, but his dark, purposely-distressed jeans and denim jacket were ludicrously expensive. He didn't throw money around as ridiculously as a Hollywood starlet, but he insisted on having the finer things in life. If she let him buy her something like that, it would be big and expensive and nothing she would ever want to wear.

"My couch, for example," she said, patting a sagging cushion. "I love it, and you keep trying to buy me a new one."

"It's old, and it's way too big for this room, and it squeaks so badly that it sounds like we're shooting a porno every time you so much as shift."

"It's comfortable," Rachel said, "and it's not _that_ loud. Don't be hyperbolic."

"What if I got you a ring from a gumball machine?" Jesse asked, sounding caught between amusement and mild exasperation.

"Or a cereal box," she agreed, settling back into the circle of his arms and smiling as he kissed her ear. "That would be perfect."

"That's not my style, you know."

"I know. But it's not like it's real, right?"

"Not yet, anyway."

"_Jesse_." She craned her neck to glare at him, and he shot her a look of utterly unconvincing innocence.

"I know," he said. "I know. Time."

"You're so sure of yourself." She wasn't ready to have this conversation yet—not for real, anyway. But it was nice to imagine—to fantasize about how things might be, somewhere down the line. Jesse's comments didn't bother her, though it was fun to rebuke him anyway. It was impossible to know how much of his comment was teasing and how much was serious, but she really didn't care. For right now—right this moment—he was hers. He was her first professional costar, her closest companion, and probably her boyfriend soon as well if he wasn't already. Part of her wondered if there was an obligatory "mourning" period she ought to observe after breaking up with Finn—an acceptable length of time before she embarked on another relationship. But the bigger part of her didn't care how it looked, or if she was breaking a dating rule she didn't know about. Jesse was hers, and had been for quite a while now if she was honest with herself. He'd given himself freely without expecting anything in return. She had needed this time to really think things through for herself and come to her own conclusions about her relationship with Finn, and she couldn't express how grateful she was that Jesse gave her that space. Now she could move forward with him perfectly happily, with no regrets or unanswered questions.

"Often," Jesse agreed, pulling her back to the present. "Not all the time, though." His arms tightened, and Rachel thought he might have switched the subject again.

"Are we back to that scene?" she asked, but it was only half a guess. She couldn't always predict his actions, but she knew his mind reasonably well. It functioned so much like hers.

"What do you think?" he countered. The smile in his voice was something she could hear well.

"Do you feel better about it since you and Michael talked?"

"I feel better about it since _we_ talked," he said, and the stress he put on the word told her all she needed to know. "Michael was a little slow out of the gate."

"He was trying to give you time to cool down," Rachel argued. "I'm sure he had a speech prepared long before I said anything."

Jesse's hands shifted, sliding down her arms. He linked their fingers, and she shivered slightly at the feel of his hands twined around hers. It was beautiful and real—such a simple touch, but so honest. Jesse never shied away from touching her, though while she was dating Finn he'd kept the contact more or less platonic. She'd come to crave even the simplest touches from him, and she was capable of admitting it to herself now that she was free of Finn. "I didn't want or need a speech from him," he said firmly. "All I needed was a push from you—a promise that you really were okay, and you wouldn't hold it against me."

"Why would I hold your role against you?" Rachel frowned. She was seriously at a loss with that one. "What if someday we did another production together, and you were cast as a villain? And you did something awful to my character? Do you think I'd hold that against you?"

"It's not the same thing."

"Why not?" She shifted in his arms, scooting back until she was sitting on his lap instead of lying against his chest. She could see his eyes this way, and she reached up to touch her fingertips to his cheek. "Why is this beating scene different?" They'd touched on his troubles with the scene yesterday, but she suspected she didn't have the whole story yet.

"It just is," Jesse said, squaring his jaw. His face settled into a look she knew quite well—he did not intend to tell her anything else, but she wasn't taking that as an answer.

"Oh no you don't, St. James," she said, and she turned to face him fully, settling her legs on either side of his. "You're going to tell me what's wrong."

"There's nothing wrong," he almost snapped, but she held her ground. She was perfectly used to his small displays of temper by now, and they didn't startle her. If she were afraid of him, she'd never have pushed him on stage like that. It was the same now. He was holding back—this time information rather than a physical strike, but the net result was the same and she wasn't going to let it happen. So, just as before, she pushed him. Not with a shove or a slap—not yet, anyway—but with her words. If Finn's reactions last night were any indication, sometimes those could garner just as much of a reaction as a tangible blow.

"Nothing wrong, huh? Then tell me what's different about this scene. Why does it bother you so much?" She scooted closer to him, sitting further up on his outstretched thighs, and slipped her arms around his neck. They'd cuddled quite a bit since her move to New York, but this was the closest they'd been to a compromising position. Off stage, anyway. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, and told herself firmly that this was okay. She'd broken things off with Finn. She was allowed to do whatever she wanted now. And if that meant straddling Jesse and poking at his uncertain temper, well, that was her foolish decision to make.

He exhaled a swift breath, and she felt his hands suddenly drop to her ass, gripping tightly. He brought them together, pressing her hard against him, and her eyes went wide. No one had ever touched her quite like that before—not so forcefully. Not as herself, anyway. Jesse's hands felt much like they did when he was playing Melchior. Desperate and hard, full of a tension she barely understood. It was too much and she tried to squirm away, but he only gripped her tighter.

"Don't play with fire," he said slowly, each word grating out of his throat as if he had a hard time saying them.

"Jesse," she whispered, her voice utterly gone. Her hands were shaking as she pressed them against his back—why were they shaking? She wasn't afraid of him. This wasn't fear. She squirmed again, but he held her still.

"I mean it. Do you know how fucking hard it is to be so close to you—to pretend to get lucky, day after day, when in reality I want to bury myself in you so much it physically hurts?" He snorted, and an expression Rachel couldn't read passed over his face. "I'll be your professional costar if that's what you want. If you need a friend, I'll be the best damn buddy you ever had. But you can't play with me like this. If you want this relationship to stay the way it is, there's a line you can't cross."

"What if I don't want that?" She blinked several times rapidly; the heat from his pale eyes was making her stomach churn with something that wasn't quite anxiety...not quite. "Besides, we weren't talking about the love scene, Jesse."

He laughed, but there was very little humor in the sound and his hands did not relax their grip on her. He was probably leaving marks, but this time he didn't seem to care. "The beating scene's even worse," he said with a mirthless twist of his mouth.

"Why?" she whispered. The hayloft scene was both the easiest and most difficult for her, personally. In those moments as Jesse kissed and caressed her, she and her character truly became one. She didn't have to worry about calling out the wrong name by accident, because Jesse _was_ Melchior, and she _was_ Wendla, and they were all the same, and it was so, so beautiful. His touch burned along her skin—it was the first time she'd ever been touched like that, or looked at like that, and it seemed oddly appropriate for it to be happening on a stage. But even though her head knew there were always people watching, she couldn't focus on anything but Jesse. Not when he touched her. Not when he was so close to her. Her lines rolled off her tongue without thought, but she had to be careful about her movements. More than once, she'd braced to pull him closer when she knew she was supposed to push him away. She'd never actually screwed up yet, but sometimes it was close. She shivered now and squirmed again. Jesse's hipbones dug into the tender meat of her inner thighs, and the rough seam of his fly ground against her crotch, just the thin cotton of her underwear separating them. It was too much all at once, and yet...

"Because," he said, the words still low, his voice dangerous, "it's too close to what I want."

She froze, her dark eyes widening as she searched his face for the meaning of the words. "You—want to—"

"No, you ridiculous girl. I don't want to hit you. I don't want to hurt you." His voice was fractionally lighter, and Rachel released a shaky breath as his grip loosened a hair's breadth. "I already told you that."

"Then I don't understand."

He sighed, and the exhalation was laced with a tremendous amount of what she could only assume was resignation, though it did not sound irritated. "Of course you don't."

"I would if you'd just tell me." She paused for a moment. Her next words might be considered a low blow, but she suspected they'd get the job done. "Finn didn't know how to talk to me, and that's why I broke up with him. I know you're better than that, Jesse."

"Of course I am," he snapped, and his hands tightened on her ass again. He loathed being compared with her ex, and Rachel knew that. But she honestly didn't care in that moment, because he was talking. "I'm ten times the man Hudson will ever be, even when he finally grows up."

"Then tell me, Jesse," she whispered. He was holding himself still, not grinding against her, but she still felt incredibly physically vulnerable as he held her tight against the hardness in his jeans and would not let her go. She trusted him not to push too far, but this was treading awfully close to that line.

Only then did he move, dropping his head and tucking it against her shoulder. He kissed her throat, his mouth hot and hard, and she shivered.

"I'm always pushing you," he said, the words harsh with emotion yet soft in volume. "Even though I don't want to. I want you to make these choices for yourself. But even in the play, I'm pushing you. Your character gives in eventually and says yes, but we have to get through an awful lot of no's before that. But in the beating scene—it's different." He let out a swift breath and inhaled against her skin, as if breathing her in. "You _ask_ for it. And even though it's the wrong kind of touch, it's still all about sex. And you initiate it—you ask me for it. You _want_ me to touch you."

Oh. _Oh_. Now that he said it, it made perfect sense. He was right, and yet so very wrong. Taking the initiative wasn't the same as pushing. Yes, even back when she'd first met him, he'd always been the initiator, but—

Wait. She paused in thought as his hands loosened their tight grip once again. That wasn't true. _She'd_ been the one to kiss him first, the one time she met him at Carmel. Their first kiss had been hers to give, not his to take. So maybe he was the instigator more often than not. It didn't mean she didn't want him. She wasn't ready to jump right into a sexual relationship—her breakup with Finn notwithstanding, she needed some time to adjust to being a couple with Jesse in other ways before taking that final, irrevocable step. But she was more than ready to move forward in just about every other way she could think of. Did Jesse not know that? She felt so attuned to him all of the time, and it surprised her that something so obvious to herself might not be so to him.

Well, there was an easy way to show him.

Leaning forward, she kissed him.

Delicious. Just like always. Except, unlike their stage kisses, this time she was able to kiss him properly. This was no scripted touch, no extension of choreography. She moved her mouth as she pleased, and when his lips parted and he kissed her back hungrily, she slipped her tongue in his mouth without a qualm. That had been #1 on Michael's list of no-no's during a stage kiss, and she felt slow, syrupy, delicious shivers seep up her spine as she threw all of her director's warnings out the window and kissed Jesse exactly the way she wanted to.

They were perfectly in sync in this, too, it seemed. She wanted deep kisses—wanted his taste on her tongue and breath on her skin, wanted to feel him shudder with the sensation of it all. He seemed to want the same, his hands leaving her ass only to cup her face, kissing her back with a desperation she'd only felt from him when he was acting. Melchior's desperation couldn't compare to Jesse's, though—in his kiss was the frustration of months apart, and both their deceptions and deceit. It was a final crushed egg and a hard jaw as he walked away from her in a parking lot. A different breakup, though no less bitter, when she refused to speak with him after letting Finn kiss her on stage at Nationals a year later. It was the bittersweet gall of spending months so close to each other and yet forbidden to touch except on stage. It was the lie of friendship—not in itself an untruth, but a childish substitution for what they both knew they wanted and Finn's continued presence refused to let them claim. One kiss to burn through two years of secrets and half-truths, and bring to light the underlying beauty of what they had—what they'd always had, despite everything. She'd been his the moment he pulled a music book out of her hand, replacing the opened pages with a handsome smirk and a handful of curls. He'd been hers longer; since her very first Sectionals competition, when she saved New Directions from a disastrous plot and won over the curly-haired boy in the audience without even knowing it.

They'd fought it for a long time, and she could recognize that. Both had struggled against the almost gravitational pull that drew them to this moment. Whether it was fear of something so deep and strong, or just their own natural tendency toward stubbornness, Rachel didn't know. She didn't particularly think she needed to, either. In the end, they'd stopped fighting. Jesse had been the bigger man, as it were, and had accepted his fate first. Twice he'd held out the olive branch, returning to Lima and then offering her a place by his side in New York City even after she'd rejected him. Well, she'd been an idiot before, but she wasn't going to make that same mistake again. He'd waited for her, and if he couldn't wait any more, she wasn't going to make him.

One kiss turned into many; needy and consuming. It took a while for the emotions to calm, and for Jesse's hands to return to his usual gentle touches. Rachel wondered if it were possible to literally get drunk off kisses. If so, she was pretty sure that's what she was feeling. Her head was spinning, her body pulsing, and she settled her head in the crook of Jesse's shoulder, breathing deeply.

"I could never not want you," she said softly. "Is that what you thought?" Silly boy.

"You're the only one who's ever said no to me. Ever broken up with me." He shook his head slightly, his arms encircling her body and holding her close. "Of course you'd be the only one I want. Karma's a bitch."

"I don't think you can blame karma." Rachel took a deep, shaky breath. She knew this wasn't the right time to say yes to everything, but that didn't stop her body from wanting to. "I want you, Jesse," she said softly. "I've always wanted you. That's never been the problem." She reached up and kissed him softly, her lips still tingling from the prolonged makeout session. "I just..."

"I know." He echoed her trembling breath, but when he exhaled he smiled. "I know. I just—shit, you're my world, Rachel. You have to know that." His hands shifted, but they remained gentle as they trailed across her back. "I can be patient. That's normally not a problem for me. I just need to know that you—"

She reached up and touched two fingertips to his mouth, stilling his words. "I know. And I do."

He nipped softly at her fingers, making her giggle. "All right, then." He kissed her again, pulling her hand out of the way. "Let's do something we haven't done in a while, sweetheart."

"What's that?"

His smile widened. "A date. You're going to let me take you on your first New York date."

"Yes," she said, though he hadn't exactly asked. She was pretty sure she was grinning like a fool, but she didn't care. Jesse was, too. "Yes, please."

* * *

><p><em>What? Doesn't feel finished? That's because it's not. Yup, there's a third part, but it won't be the next thing I post. For some reason these chapters are longer than normal, so expect it toward the end of the week, if not the weekend. Also, there might be smut. Just sayin'. ;-)<em>

_This chapter dedicated to _**MissRe**_, who actually guessed the correct musical last chapter even though I didn't quote verbatim! (It was Newsies, btw. I was eleven when it came out on video and it was the center of my world for some looooooong months.)_


	17. Prom Queen Part 4

_A/N: Hey, guys! I wasn't planning on this, but it's just a little something to tide you over since the big finale to St. Berry Week II isn't cooperating with me at the moment. All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

><p><strong>Get Me Back (Part 4)<strong>

Warm.

Soft.

_Skin_.

Thoughts flickered through Rachel's mind as she rose closer to the surface of consciousness. She felt definite tactile sensations, some of which fit with her body's memory of what it felt like to wake up, and some of which did not. Warm blankets, check. A soft mattress, the gentle give of springs as she shifted her weight, and a nice cool spot as she moved her cheek and snuggled deeper into her pillow. That was utterly normal, nice and familiar, and she felt a smile bleed across her lips at the comfort and familiarity of it all.

But other sensations were tugging at her attention, and her sleepy, slow brain didn't quite know what to make of it all. There was a delicious scent in her nostrils, something almost tangible, and it called to her in a way she didn't even try to understand. Something moved behind her, the mattress shifting, and her bare back came in contact with something firm and warm, warmer than the blankets she'd cuddled into. She shifted, leaning into the contact, trying to figure out why she'd gone to bed without her pajamas.

A warm breath of air feathered over her bare shoulder, and Rachel shivered as the sensation was replaced with a gentle touch. _Kiss_, her fuzzy, sleepy mind supplied. Whatever. It felt nice. Another one followed, and a line of them was slowly drawn from her shoulder to her shoulder blade, the blankets drawn aside to expose more skin to the cooler air, a very pleasant sort of warmth beginning to pool in her belly. She wanted to pay attention to that warmth, to decipher its meaning and know its cause, but the tender touches to her skin were very distracting. She shifted, reaching an arm back to try to find the source.

Her fingers found soft hair and an ever-so-slightly scratchy cheek. _Skin_, her fuzzy brain told her, waking up a little more. Skin was good. It was soft and warm, and it smelled nice. She was more than happy to stroke what she found, her arm reaching behind her head, her eyes still closed as she slowly drifted toward full wakefulness. A kiss was dropped in the palm of her searching hand, and she smiled as she ran her fingertips across the velvet texture of a pair of lips. Her mind gave her the names of the body parts only as she touched them, as if on a need-to-know basis. Chin. Jaw. Ear. She found the arch of an eyebrow, feathered the lightest touch over an eyelid that fluttered closed, lashes tickling her fingertip, as she moved her hand. Down the strong, straight line of a nose, finding lips again. The mouth opened, drawing her finger in, and she felt a shudder run down her spine at the sudden wet heat.

A hand touched her shoulder, stroking firmly down her back before sliding around her waist and pressing her body more firmly against the hardness behind her. She shifted again, more awake than not now, and smiled again. She knew that mouth, and the skin that went with it. She knew the scent that surrounded her, and the soft chuckle that sounded almost in her ear as her finger was released.

"Jesse."

"Good morning, beautiful."

The warmth in her belly expanded, and a thrill ran up her spine. She didn't think she'd ever get tired of hearing him call her that.

"I woke up to a dream," he said, the words whispered against her skin as he pressed slow kisses to her shoulder and the side of her throat, shifting her hair to gain access to the soft skin he wanted. "There was a dark-haired angel in my arms. She'd stolen all the blankets, but her skin was so warm that it didn't matter. Ring any bells?"

Rachel hid a smile. She did indeed have a wad of blankets hugged to her chest, as if she'd rolled over in her sleep and taken them with her. Well, she wasn't exactly used to sleeping with someone else in the bed. Sharing was something she'd have to get used to.

"Go on," she said, turning slowly onto her back and letting her gaze find him. His eyes were dark in the shadowy room, only flickers of daylight filtering through the heavy drapes over the window. But she knew him so well—knew exactly what that expression meant, and her body melted into the mattress as he lowered his head and kissed her collarbone, working his way agonizingly slowly toward her ear.

"Your skin looks so fucking tempting against white sheets," he murmured, his near hand sliding up her ribcage and closing over a breast. "Makes me want to get a place of my own, just so I can see you spread against my own bed and not just some hotel's."

"Jesse," she whispered—not a remonstrance of his frank words, but an involuntary reaction to the possessive tone. No one had ever wanted her like that—not that she knew of. Puck wanted to touch her body, but that wasn't the same thing at all.

"So soft," he said, shifting his hand and sliding down her belly. Liquid heat followed his touch, easing through her veins like a drug. She exhaled slowly, surrendering to it, to him, and when he reached between her legs she opened for him. "So wet, Rach."

God, yes. She probably had been since before she actually woke up, if he'd been touching her while she slept, however innocently. She whimpered softly as he trailed his fingers along her slick folds, spreading moisture as he teased. He circled her clit gently without touching it, concentrating on her body and her responses.

"Easy, sweetheart," he said as she moved her hips, trying to increase the contact between them. "Your body's not used to this, and I don't want to hurt you. Are you sore?"

Yes, now that he mentioned it. But that didn't stop the needy, pleasurable ache that craved his touch. "Please," she said, arching her back, egging him on. She fisted one hand in the sheet below her. His hand moved slowly, fingers swirling gently over her clit, sending tremors of sensation rocketing deep inside her. "Please." Apparently her vocabulary shrunk to miniscule proportions when he was touching her like that. Well, she didn't care. His hand moved, thumb circling her clit this time as he dipped inside her with a finger.

Yes, that was exactly what she wanted. She leaned back into the pillow, begging silently for more. Her internal muscles protested the intrusion at first, still sore and unused to this, but the ache of desire drowned out any discomfort, and she rocked her hips against his hand, trying to get more—deeper—harder—_anything_. She whimpered loudly as he lowered his head and his breath washed over a pebbled nipple an instant before he took it in his mouth, his tongue sweeping across the tender bud with long strokes. Every touch was like a tug on a string that led directly to that spot deep inside her where the tension was building, the liquid burn that hurt and felt so good at the same time. He added a second finger inside her, stretching her gently, and she felt her body tighten around him in response. Her hands found his back and hips, pulling him close, her short nails digging into his skin and making him groan.

"You have no idea how amazing it feels to be inside you," he muttered against her skin, nipping here and there, leaving a trail of little red marks across her flushed chest. "So warm and wet. I can feel every flicker of your muscles, every time you move. Do you have any idea how incredibly intimate that is?"

Yes, she did. Because she could feel him, too. He was inside her, after all. Every time he shifted his hand, every deft twist of his fingers—she felt it all. He rubbed against a particularly sensitive spot deep inside her, and she gasped.

"That's your g-spot," he murmured, massaging that spot gently from inside her. "I know for a fact that the state of Ohio doesn't teach you anything about it in sex ed, and in my opinion that's absolutely criminal."

"Jesse," she said, tossing her head back and exposing her throat, which his mouth instantly took advantage of. He could lecture all he wanted about anatomy, just as long as his hands didn't stop. "Don't stop—please—"

"I'm not stopping until you scream for me," he assured her. Her body tightened around him in response, and he pushed inside her a little harder this time. She was moving without conscious thought, her body flexing and curling to meet the movements of his hand. His mouth was slowly taking a tour of all the skin he could reach, nibbling, kissing, and licking. All she could think about were his big hands and the way they held her body, firm and gentle at the same time, drawing pleasure from her as he drew music from a piano. Her hips jerked, sudden and out of sync, and she felt the tension drawing tighter, the warning that orgasm was imminent.

"Jesse," she said, fighting her eyes open despite her body's insistence that everything had to tense up, to clamp down. "Jesse, I want you inside me when I—" She swallowed, her words cut off by a short cry as he twisted his hand at a new angle and his thumb pressed just a shade harder on her clit.

"After," he promised, but she shook her head adamantly, trying to draw her body away from his hand even as it cried out for more. She loved the feel of his hands, but she wanted the dizzying, intense intimacy that only came when he was buried inside her. That was how she wanted to come, with his weight pressing her into the mattress and his body curled around hers, _inside_ hers.

"Now," she insisted, reaching for him. The beauty of waking up naked was that he had no clothes to remove, and when she found his cock and gripped it, sliding her hand slowly up and down the hard length, he didn't require any more convincing.

"Shit, Rach," he grit out, and he pushed her hand away, positioning himself without another argument.

She hissed as he entered her, doing her best to relax her quivering muscles. It hurt—she was definitely feeling the ache from last night—but she wanted this too much to care. She gripped him, loving the feel of smooth, sweat-slick skin below her palms, and she heard herself whimper again as he pressed deeper into her body. She angled to meet him, learning to flex and bend her body to get just the right pressure in just the right places as he slid out and then pushed forward again. She loved the feeling of fullness when he was deep inside her, and on each stroke he hit her g-spot, making her tremble. One of his hands snaked between them, playing over her clit once more, and she gave up trying to do anything but ride out the sensation as he thrust and withdrew, one hand supporting most of his weight, the other on her clit. It hurt and it felt so good at the same time, and she almost didn't want it to end.

But the ending was the best part, like any good finale, and she fell into her orgasm with a sharp cry, Jesse's name leaving her mouth repeatedly as her vision blanked and her entire body tensed and released in dizzying waves of intense pleasure. Again and again, clenching and releasing, warmth flowing through her body and turning her liquid. He surged into her, deep, deeper, and she felt him come with a jerk and a cry of his own. His body tensed under her grasping hands, and he held her with a vise-like grip for several long moments, the aftershock pulses still swimming through her system.

"Christ, Rach," he murmured finally, releasing his furious grip and slipping out of her, "if I could wake up like that every morning..."

Seriously, she might die. It was too much to think about right now—the intensity of this kind of touch, and the realization that it _wasn't_ possible to wake up like this every morning. Not right now, anyway. Her dads were gone for the weekend, which was the only reason she was able to be here now. She was still just a junior in high school, and she belonged with them, not Jesse. Not yet.

"Jesse," she whispered, reaching for him even as he gathered her close to his chest, "please, don't—"

"Shh." He kissed her damp hair. "I know. I know."

She hoped he did. Because this was all so new to her, and she needed to know she had someone to share it with. The emotions that went along with their new physical relationship were intense and deep, and she pressed herself against his sweat-slick skin, feeling the quick, sharp beat of his heart against her cheek. He drew the blankets around them again, protecting her from the cool morning air, and she wished fervently for a moment that they could just stay here forever, in this warm, safe nest of blankets and skin. She didn't have any doubts about his intent—did not for one minute think that he was going to break up with her now that he'd taken her virginity. But she found herself wanting this—wanting him—more than ever. Falling asleep in his arms, and then waking up there, was beyond perfect. Now that she knew what that felt like, she wanted it for good. For always.

"Rachel, look at me."

She tipped her head up, her big eyes watching him solemnly. He was so beautiful—she loved everything about him, from his soft eyelashes to his crooked lower teeth. He smelled like sex, like a commingling of her body and his, and she breathed in deeply as he traced a finger across her swollen lower lip.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said. "Did I forget to mention that I'd still respect you in the morning?"

"It's not that," she said quickly. "It's just—" She trailed off, not knowing how to put what she was feeling into words. She wasn't unhappy—far from it, in fact. She didn't want him to think he'd done anything wrong.

His pale eyes shone softly, and an understanding smile touched the corner of his mouth. "What do you think about spending the weekend with me?" he asked gently. "We can stay another night if you want, and I'll have you back home in time for your dads' return on Sunday."

"They're not coming back until Monday, actually," Rachel said, biting her lip. Contentment surged inside her. A weekend wasn't exactly forever, but it was a hell of a lot better than saying goodbye right now.

"Even better," he murmured, and he dropped a kiss on her nose. "I'll drop you off at school on Monday, and if we see Hudson in the parking lot, we can either smirk haughtily or ignore him, as you wish."

She smiled and hugged him fiercely. "Jesse, that sounds perfect."

* * *

><p>After a shared shower that consisted of more making out than getting clean, they agreed to stop off at Rachel's house so she could pick up some real clothes and other necessities, then head to the Lima Bean for breakfast. It was horrendously late by Rachel's reckoning, but then, she told herself, they hadn't actually gone to sleep until after three. She'd crashed in the bathtub, surrounded by the perfect warmth of the hot water and Jesse's body, sleepy and sated and utterly content. Only half-awake, she'd felt him pick her up and wrap her in towels before carrying her back to bed, and she smiled now at the memory.<p>

Her house felt empty without her dads, and she hastily packed a small suitcase while Jesse lounged on her bed and watched. Her phone, tossed on the bed, buzzed as she was folding a skirt, and she stilled for a moment.

"It's Hudson," Jesse said, sounding neutral. He held the pink device out to her.

She silenced the ringer with a touch before tossing the phone back to the bed. "Nothing I have to say to him right now would be conducive to anything but an argument," she said matter-of-factly. "I'll talk to him on Monday. I want this weekend to be about us."

Jesse's answering smile told her instantly that she'd made the right decision, though she really hadn't had any doubts.

"Do me a favor?" he asked as she zipped her suitcase closed. He disappeared into her bathroom and returned with the bottle of ibuprofen she kept around for the inevitable aches and pains that came with her intense dance schedule. "Take a couple of these now—you'll thank me this afternoon as the soreness in your muscles kicks in. You know as well as I do that it takes a while for these things to manifest."

He was right, and she was glad he mentioned it. She swallowed two pills and tucked the rest into her suitcase, just in case. Muscle aches usually did take a while to set in—sometimes a full day or two. He'd been gentle, but her body wasn't used to the sort of activity they'd put it through last night and this morning. It would take a while for her muscles to learn.

"How is this a favor to you?" she teased, slipping her hand in his as he took her suitcase to carry it downstairs.

"Because the better you're feeling," he said with a roguish smile, "the more I can touch you without guilt."

"Reprobate."

"When it comes to you? Definitely."

* * *

><p>The spring day was warm enough that they sat outside the Lima Bean with coffee and pastry, which meant two things. The first was that Rachel was in an inordinately good mood as she let the sunshine warm her bare calves, stretching her legs out and feeling the warmth seep through her skin. It was one of the first truly warm days, spring having come late to Ohio that year, and she enjoyed the chance to sit outside without a jacket and the legwarmers she usually donned when she had to be outdoors in the winter for a prolonged length of time. The second was that, since they weren't inside the establishment, she felt free to be as obnoxiously couple-ish with Jesse as she wanted. If they were sitting at a table indoors she would have tried to rein it it in at least a little, but the sunny sidewalk was fair game as far as she was concerned. She didn't protest when he pulled her onto his lap, and she cuddled there as they drank coffee and picked at the sugary treats she almost never let herself eat. She fed Jesse bites with her fingers, just so she could feel his lips and teeth and tongue against her skin.<p>

It felt like the perfect morning, even though it was almost noon. Warm sun on her legs, warm boy wrapped around her, and the pleasant buzz of caffeine and sugar in her belly—Rachel didn't know if there was anything else she could possibly want. They made plans to go to the music store later to browse, maybe give another impromptu concert. Rachel remembered the DVDs that Jesse had in his duffel bag back at the hotel, and she thought snuggling with him in the big bed and watching a movie tonight might be just about perfect.

"That's just about the most disgusting thing I've ever seen."

Rachel stiffened at the familiar voice, and she felt Jesse's arms tighten around her. He kissed her temple softly; she was glad of the soothing touch, though it didn't make her relax. She glared at the sharply pretty female face standing over her, blond shadow in tow. "If you don't like it, Santana, then go away."

"I can't decide what's worse—seeing a guy all over you, or that it's St. Asshole."

"Your mom knows she can get child support from Mr. Schue, right?" Brittany asked, frowning concernedly at Jesse.

Rachel felt his amused chuckle. "Mr. Schuester isn't my father," he said, a smile in his voice.

"But you look just like him," Brittany insisted. "Except for the baby-butt chin."

"I have _much_ better hair than your choir director," Jesse said. "And better taste in women, which is why I'm not letting this one go." He squeezed Rachel gently. "So if you'll excuse us—"

"Did you sleep with him last night?" Santana interrupted, turning to Rachel. "Finn said you left the dance together. He's been frantic; even called your dads."

"I'm aware," Rachel said dryly. "And it's none of your business."

"You totally did." Santana crossed her arms over her chest. "We warned you about sleeping with the enemy before, you know. You're not going to get a third warning."

"He's not the enemy!" Rachel snapped. She wanted to stand up, to fight with Santana face-to-face, but Jesse was holding her firmly in his lap. Whether it was because he didn't want her to move or because he was trying to prevent a physical altercation, she didn't know. She took solace in his presence, nonetheless—his arms were solid around her, his chest firm against her back. She could deal with the insults from Santana; she was pretty used to them, after all. "He doesn't belong to Vocal Adrenaline anymore. How many times do I have to say it?"

"In fact," Jesse said, "I'm thinking of coming on board at McKinley as a consultant for your choir."

Santana paused. "Sleeping with teacher?" she said, raising a thoughtful eyebrow. "Now that's something I can get behind. Just don't do it in the choir room, okay? That's not a picture I need lodged in my head."

As the two left, disappearing inside the coffee shop, Rachel relaxed back against Jesse's chest. He smiled into her hair and kissed her ear, ducking his head to nip softly at the lobe. "That would be kind of hot," he said. "Doing it in the choir room."

"Ew." Rachel wrinkled her nose. "I am _not_ getting naked at school. Besides, I had the choir room bugged last year and I don't think they ever removed the hidden mics."

"You what?" Jesse sounded more amused than anything.

"I had the choir room bugged," Rachel repeated calmly. "While you were away on spring break. The others weren't pulling their weight and it was putting a strain on my voice, but I needed proof to bring to Mr. Schue."

His easy laugh rang out, and Rachel smiled. With Jesse, she was never afraid that he was laughing at her the way everyone else did. "You, Rachel Berry," he said, "are absolutely perfect."

"You, Jesse St. James," she teased, "aren't so bad yourself."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Like I said, I have something big planned for the end of St. Berry Week II, just like I did for the end of the first St. Berry Week, but it's not cooperating at the moment, so I can't promise when it will be up. Working on it, though! I can't believe we had such great stuff posted this week! Jeez, give St. Berry shippers motivation in the form of Finchel sex and we really outdo ourselves, huh? Mwah!_


	18. Asian F Part 3

_A/N: That's right - it's what some of you have been waiting for! The continuation of my "Asian F" fix! This is a birthday present for the wonderful **erinsgirl**, who writes me awesome reviews and lets me rant about how much I hate Season 3, and has a beautiful real name that I have no hope of ever pronouncing. Happy birthday!_

_RL has been shitty as of late, which is why I've been a little absent, but I seriously love you guys and I'll do my best to stick around more because hearing from you makes a bad day so much better! _

* * *

><p><strong>Proving Grounds (part 3)<strong>

"Opening night jitters?"

"Not really." Rachel smiled through her makeup and gave her dads each a squeeze. She was so used to the pancake makeup and period costumes by now that they no longer seemed strange to her. This was her reality—her _life_. After months of rehearsal, they were finally at the crowning moment. Her first opening night on Broadway. While she knew in her heart that it was only the first of many, that she would have plenty of other opening nights in her lifetime, she did not for one minute believe that any of them would ever quite compare with this one. This was her first, and it was an incredibly special role that she'd thrown her heart and soul into. Not to mention, she got to play opposite Jesse. Being without him for subsequent opening nights would always feel a little empty, she was pretty sure.

"You shouldn't have any," Leroy said, and she couldn't help the thrill she felt at the pride in his voice. "You're amazing, sweet pea. You've earned this."

Rachel couldn't stop the huge smile that just wouldn't leave her face. Though they'd spoken the day New Directions came to see her workshop, she still felt inordinately happy when her father showed his pride in no uncertain terms. His inability to sit through the whole play had hurt her, even though she understood his feelings. It was nice to hear the affirmation now, to know that he was proud of her despite it all.

"Honey," Hiram said, glancing at his partner, "we have a question for you."

"Shoot." Rachel glanced at the clock on her dressing room wall. She still had plenty of time before Michael would call for his cast and her dads would have to find their seats. Though she knew immediately by the way her dads looked at each other before answering that this was a serious question, she couldn't feel too worried. She was on top of the world, and absolutely nothing could bring her down. Not today.

"This has all kind of happened so suddenly," Hiram said, squeezing her shoulder. "It wasn't so long ago that you were coming home every night complaining about something Mr. Schuester did in glee club."

Rachel smiled faintly. "It feels like a lifetime ago for me."

"I'm sure it does." Hiram's smile was soft. "We just want to make sure that you're handling everything well. I know we've spoken a lot over the phone, but it's not the same as seeing you every day. Are you okay, sweetie? I know this is what you've always wanted, but is it what you still want, now that you know what it's really like? The constant rehearsals and criticisms, the frantic pace of this city—having to fit school around your work schedule? It's a lot to ask of anyone, let alone a seventeen-year-old girl. We just want to make sure that you're happy."

"I am happy," Rachel said, without a second thought. She took her father's hand and squeezed it. "It's a lot, and I'll admit that I miss you—so much. I miss Kurt, and Tina, and I know it isn't right, but sometimes I even miss Finn—or the way he used to be." She bit her lip lightly, knowing their makeup assistant wouldn't thank her for it. "It was difficult at first, getting used to living with a stranger and finding my way around this city. But Jesse was so helpful, and I really, truly feel comfortable here. More than comfortable—I love it. And yes, the pace is difficult. It's too much...but it's not _too __much_ too much, if that makes sense?"

"It actually does," Leroy said with a chuckle.

"I mean, and things will settle down once I'm out of school," she added. "This is my last year—last few months, really—and then I won't have to worry about how much time I legally have to spend with my tutor every day." She was honestly relieved about the end of _that_ silliness. While other members of the cast got to spend their miniscule breaks relaxing, she and the other underage cast member had to spend them studying. Her grades were near-perfect anyway, and she didn't need some snippy tutor to tell her exactly what she was perfectly capable of reading for herself in the textbooks. She was ready for this farce of an education to be over. Maybe later she would try college—Tisch, perhaps, or Juilliard if she wanted a more technical and formal training period. Otherwise, she was more than ready for the full monty, as it were, of adulthood. To have her career and her boyfriend, on her own in New York City. Though she missed her dads, she also was able to admit that she did not need them anymore – not the way she'd needed them as a child. They weren't a vital part of her day-to-day functioning anymore, though she still desperately loved them and yearned for their love in return.

"And, since you brought him up, things with Jesse—are they still going well?"

Rachel felt her face heat, though she hoped they wouldn't be able to see it through her stage makeup. "His aunt says he's not allowed in my room anymore," she admitted.

Hiram raised an amused eyebrow; Leroy only looked resigned.

"We weren't doing anything," she protested, not knowing whether they'd believe her. "She just said it wasn't appropriate to hang out like that anymore, since we're officially dating." Rachel felt a small, impatient huff slip from her lips. "_You_ never set any rules like that."

"That's because, at the time, the only thing you were interested in doing with boys in your room was singing," Hiram said dryly.

"That's not—" Rachel stopped her protest an instant too late as her father's eyebrow rose even higher. "Never mind."

"That's what I thought." He glanced at his partner and back again to their daughter. "I think that's a story we all can live with."

"I love him, daddy," she said quietly.

"Yeah, honey," Leroy said, the slightest edge of irritation filtering into his voice. "We got that."

"Rachel, one more question." Hiram glanced at his partner again, who merely shrugged. "If...there was someone in the audience tonight who you might not want to be...would you want to know?"

Rachel frowned, her quick mind immediately flickering through the list of people she might not want here. Most of the ones that immediately came to mind wouldn't want to be here any more than she wanted them. Mercedes would only know tonight was opening night because Kurt and Blaine were in the audience. She was probably praying for a falling scaffold or power outage to ruin the production entirely. Finn wouldn't wish her ill—she hoped—but there was also absolutely no chance he was out there in that audience. Nobody else from New Directions was here, but she didn't really care either way about them. She kept up with some of them on Facebook, and she sincerely wished them all the best, but they weren't a part of her life anymore. Jesse had already warned her that a couple of his old teammates from Vocal Adrenaline were coming to see the show, but she really didn't care one way or another. They had behaved with unsportsmanlike meanness, but she couldn't really blame them. It was what Shelby had taught them, after all.

_Oh._ "Shelby," she said quietly. "Shelby is here."

"Right the first time." Hiram touched her shoulder. "We didn't want to tell you unless you wanted to know. You know, in case you thought it might affect your performance."

Rachel smiled wanly. "Nothing like that could affect my performance, daddy. I'm a professional now."

"We know, honey. We know."

She bit her lip a little harder this time, trying to decide whether she wanted to actually ask her next question. She...wasn't sure how she felt about Shelby's presence, honestly. They hadn't spoken much since her mother's return to Ohio, and not about anything important. Certainly not about how Shelby's abrupt return to her life and then subsequent disappearance made her feel. Shelby had wanted a mature, practical sort of resolution, almost as if she'd never hurt Rachel in the first place. She had vetoed Rachel's initial suggestion to not even go there, insisting instead on a happy veneer that masked the truth of their situation. They weren't okay—not even remotely. But neither of them seemed to want to deal with it, and Rachel had been content (enough) to let Shelby have her way, particularly since she'd left for New York so soon upon Shelby's return to McKinley.

"What is it, sweet pea?" Leroy asked gently, and Rachel let her taller father tuck her under his arm. He would always be the one she turned to in difficult situations—there was a quietness and stillness to Leroy that Hiram, her more excitable parent, lacked. She loved them both dearly, and she understood now what she had not as a sophomore—that they would _always_ be her parents in a way Shelby could never be. They were hers, and she was theirs. "Talk to me, Rachel."

"Who is she here for?" Rachel asked finally—the question that had been on her mind from the moment she heard her mother was in the audience. "Me, or him?"

Her fathers glanced at each other with a carefully neutral expression she knew well by now. "We don't know," Leroy said finally. "Probably a little of both."

It was probably the most realistic answer, Rachel supposed. Still, a part of her had to admit to at least a little envy—a wish that her mother had come to see her, and her alone. She didn't begrudge Jesse the time he'd had with Shelby; after all, it was what got him to this point. Without her direction and guidance, he freely admitted that he might never have progressed beyond an obnoxious, sneering amateur. Still, Shelby was her _mother_. She couldn't help at least a small part of her wanting to have that all to herself.

"She asked if it was possible to come backstage and see you two," Hiram said slowly, as if gauging her reaction. "We said we'd talk to you about after the show, but before wasn't going to work."

Rachel nodded to herself. It was probably the best answer. She didn't want to have Shelby's unexpected appearance looming over her when she went on stage, but she appreciated her dads giving her the choice. "I'll talk to Jesse during intermission," she said, "and text you when we have an answer."

"Sounds good." Hiram kissed the top of her head. "We're going to find our seats now. Break a leg, honey."

"But not really," Leroy cautioned, squeezing her tight for a moment before dropping his arm. "We'll be there, front and center, sweet pea."

Rachel didn't bother to hide her wide smile as they left her dressing room. Yes, she was sure they would be. They always were. And she was ready for this: opening night. She supposed she should feel nervous, but honestly, she didn't. She was ready—born for this, and ready. This was _her_ night, and no one could possibly ruin it for her. Not even Shelby.

* * *

><p>And she was right. She'd never felt more at one with her character—never felt the buzz of an audience as much as she did tonight, playing to a sold-out crowd. They weren't stuffy, either, which she greatly appreciated. They laughed at all the right moments, and applauded with gusto. She couldn't see their faces with the bright glare of the spots shining down on her, but she could imagine them, and that was enough. She gave them her all, pouring her heart into Wendla, willing them to suspend disbelief for the small time she held them captive and hoping against hope that she was good enough to make them feel, really <em>feel,<em> what it must have been like for her character those long years ago. To love so deeply, so tenderly, while still a fragile child—to have questions no one would answer, and to feel that burning pain of youth, of leaving childish things behind in favor of more complex ones.

Jesse was wonderful, too—surpassing himself in his role, turning Melchior's fervent, demanding character into a seething mass of contradictions, alternately confident and unsure, furious and funny. She felt pride swelling in her chest—pride for him, and for herself, and for all they were accomplishing together as a couple and as part of a team. Everyone was brilliant, she thought, down to the smallest roles. The girl playing Martha sometimes had some slight issues with timing, but not tonight. The boy playing Georg was not the most talented dancer, but even he didn't seem able to put a foot wrong. Not tonight.

So it didn't surprise her necessarily when Jesse's grip on her arm as they waded into the thick of the beating scene was tighter than normal, his fingers hard and unyielding on her flesh. "_I'll __teach __you __to __say __please_." The words grated out of his mouth, and Rachel heard the whistle of the switch an instant before it struck.

Her cry of pain and surprise was hardly acting as the stick bit deep into her tender skin, and she pulled nervously at his grip, not daring to break character. Even the little strike before, the one that was meant to be weak, had felt harder than usual. But this strike made it clear—Jesse wasn't messing around, and Rachel bit back her curious questions as she forced herself to play the scene as it was written—to demand more and harder, though her flesh was burning already. Each smack against her upper thighs was like a line of fire, and she couldn't stop Melchior's line from running through her head. _It'd __draw __blood..._ Realistic as it might be, she did _not_ want to suddenly start bleeding on stage.

He struck again, for the final time before he spun her around and grabbed her arms. It was almost a relief when he pushed her to the floor and ran off, and Rachel was allowed to cry in peace. Usually during this moment she wondered whether the people watching knew that she was really crying—that she could cry on demand, yes, but that the emotion of the scene drove her to tears anyway. Except, before, pain had never factored into it. Even after she had successfully coaxed Jesse to let go and strike her more realistically, it had never hurt like this before.

Wounded, she fell a little more into her character as she pulled herself up from the stage, retrieved Jesse's dropped journal, and crept slowly away. There was no applause, but then, she didn't expect any. Her scene bled seamlessly into a Moritz interlude, and besides, if she and Jesse had done their jobs right, the crowd would be on the edges of their seats, hardly able to breathe.

Touching her face carefully with her long sleeve, remembering just in time not to rub the tears away for fear of spoiling her makeup, Rachel went in search of Jesse. He always waited for her backstage after that scene, anxious to hold her again and hear her promise that she was all right. Despite the talks they'd had about it, he still worried about hurting her and he needed to hear, every single time, that she was fine.

But tonight he was nowhere to be found.

Rachel bit back a frustrated curse as she had to fix her makeup and ready herself for her next scene. There wasn't time to go on an epic search, and if she knew Jesse, she guessed he'd probably show up an instant before he had to go on next, striding out onto the stage without a word to anyone. If he was upset, that was, and she couldn't think of any reason why he'd have done...that...unless he was angry or hurting in some way. It wasn't like him at all.

And, just as she'd suspected, he didn't give her a chance to talk to him as he appeared in time for "Mirror Blue Night," and she took a breath, steadying herself for her own return to the stage. No one in the cast seemed to have noticed the difference in Jesse today. They were all focused on their own performances, all business even backstage. She couldn't blame them. That was the job, after all, and this was opening night.

As they played the hayloft scene for the first time in front of a full audience, Rachel didn't have time to be nervous about her body or what she was doing. She was too concerned with Jesse, and what might be going on inside that incredibly complicated head of his. He was with her in body, and as they spoke their lines to each other, projecting out into the audience for everyone to hear, she strove to catch a glimpse of him behind his character, to see the gleam in his eye that she knew without a doubt was _Jesse_, not Melchior.

And yes, there it was. Small, just a flash in the deeper blue. Without words, she tried to make the choreographed touches say what she could not. When she lay back, submitting to Melchior's desire, she willed Jesse to understand that she was also accepting whatever it was that was bothering him—accepting, but demanding an explanation as well. He slipped his hand under her bunched skirt, and while he usually he stopped with just a soft brush of fingers against her inner thigh, today his palm unerringly found the raised, painful marks the switch had made on her skin and he pressed his hand there gently, as if trying to soothe the lingering sting. She wanted to hiss as his touch rekindled the pain, but she was on stage, in front of an audience, and she couldn't.

"Yes?" he prompted, and there was something else in his voice, something that reassured her, if only slightly

"Yes," she said, nodding, hoping he could tell what she was really saying, underneath the scripted words. He raised himself over her, kissing her again, and as their bodies moved together in an intimate routine that she knew well by now, she heard him exhale harshly in her ear.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, so soft and swift that no one else possibly could have heard him.

But it was enough. It was more than enough for now, until they had a moment to reconnect after the show. His eyes were on hers the entire time as he rose to his knees, shedding his suspenders and dropping his trousers, and then he was there, pressed against the thin line of her underwear, and she was crying out his character's name, and his arms were holding her tightly, so tightly...

The lights went down.

The crowd went wild.

He was hard, but Rachel understood that that wasn't something he could control and she tried not to think about it as he scrambled off of her. Without conscious thought, she reached for the hand he always held out to her in the handful of seconds before the house lights came up and they had to be off the stage.

It was there, just like always.

Relief flooded her system, and she groped for his shoulder in the dark, letting him pull her off the swinging platform. She wound her legs around his waist, not particularly wanting to let him go, and she felt his arms wrap around her tightly.

They were the last off the stage, disappearing just an instant before the house lights came up, and Rachel breathed a sigh into the collar of his shirt, not caring that she was likely smearing tinted pancake makeup all over in the process. His pants were undone, and she was holding them up with her own legs wrapped around him, but she didn't particularly feel like moving at the moment, so that was fine with her. It was all...all just...so overwhelming. A real audience. Their opening night. Perfection from her castmates, and yet the question of Jesse's foul mood.

"Later," Jesse growled tightly when Michael's assistant tried to stop his swift strides toward Rachel's dressing room, and she didn't reprimand him for his abruptness. Instead, she tightened her arms and pressed her mouth against the side of his throat. His hands squeezed her back, and she felt at least somewhat reassured.

Getting into her dressing room with the door closed and locked behind them took somewhat more slamming than she was used to, but then he took a deep breath and Rachel felt his grip on her slacken. "Get down," he urged, soft but firm. "Get down and let me see."

She didn't have to ask what he wanted to look at, and she took a breath herself as she lowered her legs one at a time and steadied herself on the floor. Jesse's eyes were hooded and dark, and she took another breath before lifting the back of her dress, positioning herself so she could twist around and sort of see her back in her big mirror.

But the shorts of her costume's underwear were in the way, and it was impossible to see the upper part of her thighs, even in the mirror. Jesse knelt next to her and she settled for watching him instead as he moved the baggy fabric out of the way with a whisper of a touch. His jaw tightened, his tense body becoming impossibly tenser as he surveyed the damage.

"Let me see," Rachel said, and she was a little surprised at herself that her voice didn't shake.

Wordlessly, Jesse picked up a hand mirror from the countertop and handed it to her. She angled it until she could see the angry, raised red marks against her skin. There were four of varying hue, and she considered them quietly for a long moment, well aware that their time was ticking swiftly by and they had to be ready for the second act in less than half an hour.

"Fucking hell," he murmured, and he didn't attempt to move from his kneeling position on the floor next to her. "Rachel, I am so, so sorry. I didn't—" He stopped abruptly, leaving Rachel wondering just what he "didn't." Cautiously she reached out and touched his hair, slipping her hands through the soft strands.

"Start at the beginning," she suggested quietly when he didn't jerk away from her hand. It was what her dads had always told her when she came home from school or practice ranting about this or that new drama. Their calm in the face of her upset had always been a soothing balm, and the gentle request for information rather than an irate tirade had steadied and grounded her, all through her tumultuous childhood. She knew she didn't have the knack that her dads had for that kind of reassurance, but she hoped she could give Jesse at least a little taste of what she'd always known and taken for granted.

He dropped his hands, letting her skirt swish back into place, and Rachel turned more fully toward him. She left one hand in his hair, stroking slowly, and he dropped his head against her flat stomach, as if hiding in the folds of her costume. "They're here," he mumbled, his voice muffled by blue fabric.

"Who's here?" she prompted after a moment. "Jesse—talk to me, please."

"My parents."

Well, that was one she hadn't expected. Certainly she'd known for a while that his parents did not take an active interest in his life, preferring their own jetsetting ways to the inconvenience of day-to-day parenting. She'd met his brother and sister on their first attempt at dating, and she could honestly say that she'd never met three people less likely to be taken for siblings. His brother was skinny and blond, his sister dark and awkward, as if Jesse had received her allotment of grace and dexterity along with his own.

The three also happened to loathe each other.

But she'd never met—never even considered meeting—Jesse's parents. They were always away in this or that foreign locale, and Jesse hardly ever mentioned them. She understood that he was the favored sibling, the pet, though clearly being special did not add up to actual attention from his parents. When Michael had asked him, quite innocently, if his parents were interested in attending a workshop, Jesse's face had promptly settled into the indifferent mask Rachel knew so well, and he had swiftly declined. Rachel had not even attempted to ask him about tonight.

"Did you expect them?" she asked now, a little hesitant, though she knew even before the final word left her lips that he had not expected them at all. He would have said something to her, if to no one else.

Jesse shook his head against her stomach, refusing to remove his face from its hiding spot. Rachel stroked through his hair again and added her other hand, holding him close to her. If he needed a moment to compose himself, she was going to let him have it. "I didn't ask them," he said. "I didn't even know they knew."

"Maybe your brother or sister told them? Or your aunt?"

His derisive snort told Rachel everything she needed to know about that idea. "My aunt knows how to leave well enough alone, and the other two wouldn't tell our parents anything positive that happened to me unless they were forced to at gunpoint." He found her belly button through the layers of clothing and nuzzled the little divot softly. "They came to my dressing room right before we went on—I don't know who let them backstage, but I'm going to murder whoever it was."

"Why?" Rachel asked, still combing her hands carefully through his hair. It was hard to concentrate on his words when he was pressed against her so intimately, but she forced herself to listen. "You're the special one; they like you."

"That's the problem," Jesse bit out. "You have no idea what it's like, being the golden child. They've given up on my brother and sister, and I'm the only one left to carry on the St. James legacy."

"Legacy?" Rachel wrinkled her nose. "You make it sound like some dynasty. You're an actor, Jesse, but you're no Barrymore."

"That makes it even worse," he said darkly. "I'm not going to be a lawyer or businessman like the rest of the St. James men—I'm going to be an actor. They're willing to give me the freedom to do this, but I have to earn that right. If I can't prove I can succeed at this, I'll be in the same sad little outcast boat as my siblings, and my parents will have nothing left."

A million comments flooded Rachel's mind but, counter to her usual inclinations, she did not voice any of them. It sounded absurd when he said it, but they were his _parents_, and he was obviously incredibly upset. Though he usually expressed nothing but impatience when the topic of his parents came up, clearly there was something more going on. Rachel wanted to tell him to make his parents take a hike if they upset him this badly, but she couldn't make herself say it. It wouldn't help the situation, and it certainly wouldn't make him feel any better.

"You care about what they think," she said finally, hoping the observation was neutral enough not to rile his uncertain and volatile temper.

"And I wish I didn't," he answered, sinking further into her warmth. "I wish I could just say the hell with them—the hell with all of them—and let that be it."

"Jesse, I don't understand," she said, willing the impatience out of her voice—willing herself to understand whatever it was he needed from her. "You're the best. You always have been. And now the world knows it—you're the lead of a Broadway production that's already getting tons of hype, and you heard that crowd as well as I did when the first act ended." She touched his cheek. "You're golden, Jesse. How could they not see it?"

"Maybe they do," he said impatiently, "and maybe they don't. It's impossible to tell. Nothing's ever good enough for them. I was trying so hard—knowing they were there, watching." He swallowed hard; she felt the small convulsion of his body. "But I wasn't thinking...I didn't even realize until it was over..."

A small breath left her, and she smiled slightly though he couldn't see it. So that's what had happened. His natural inclination toward perfectionism had been exacerbated by the presence of his parents, and he'd thrown himself into his character with a will, his mind not even considering the consequences until after it was too late.

"It will never happen again," he breathed against her costume. "I won't let it—won't let myself. Please believe me."

"I do." She held his head against her more firmly, simulating a hug, and felt his arms come up to hold her legs, squeezing firmly.

"How can you be so calm about this?" he demanded without letting go. "I _hurt_ you. Don't you want to yell, or slap me, or...something?"

Rachel considered it as she held him, her hands still stroking idly through his hair. At first she had wanted to yell, yes. But not anymore. Her family didn't work like Jesse's, so she couldn't possibly understand. Not really. But she could empathize, and she truly did feel for him. She loved him. He'd made a mistake in the heat of the moment, and she couldn't imagine the crushing weight of the pressure he must feel with his parents' unexpected arrival on opening night. He'd made a mistake, and while it hurt, she believed him when he said it would never happen again. "I think you're beating yourself up better than I ever could," she said softly. "We have a few minutes before we have to touch up our makeup and get back out there. Will you sit and talk to me?"

He rose without a word, sitting on her squeaky couch and drawing her down on his lap with him. Rachel smiled softly as she nestled against him. She could definitely feel the welts on her legs, especially when she sat, but it wasn't a huge deal.

"I've smudged your dress," Jesse said, rubbing his hand against a slightly tacky spot on her stomach where his made-up cheek had rested.

"I only need it for 'The Guilty Ones' and then I'll change anyway," she said, shrugging. "I'll live." She resisted the urge to touch his cheek, knowing their makeup assistant was going to be irritated with them anyway. She didn't want to make it any worse.

"Rachel, you can't just forgive me as easily as that," he protested, and she knew he wasn't talking about the smudge on her costume anymore.

"There's nothing to forgive in the first place," she argued. "Jesse, you went deep into character and you lost control. That's not a crime. You've already said you won't do it again, and I believe you. What more do you want?"

"I actually might feel better if you yelled or threw something," he grumbled, but even though he was being crabby, Rachel relaxed. The intensity of his previous mood was now gone, and he was on his way back to normal. She rubbed her nose against his and smiled.

"You're definitely more drama than Finn ever was," she said, tugging lightly at his hair until he dipped his head forward and kissed her softly. "But I wouldn't trade you for the world."

His arms tightened around her. "Even after I was a complete asshole on stage?"

"I wouldn't say a complete asshole. I'd appreciate if you would think before you act next time, though." She kissed his forehead, makeup be damned. "My dads always told me I was utterly unable to grasp the concept of a happy medium, and I suspect you're the same. You don't have to actually leave welts to make it look realistic."

The attempt at mild humor fell flat as his arms merely tightened again. Rachel bit back a sigh and let him hold her. If that was what made him happy, she'd gladly sit with him for a while. "Are they coming backstage after the show?" she asked.

"No doubt," he said, his voice dark and unhappy. "Don't let them intimidate you when you meet them, okay?"

"Why would they?"

"They're not like your dads." Jesse shook his head, not looking at her. "Just...please understand that you're mine. You're part of my life in a way they never have been, and never will be. Please, Rachel. Don't let them bait you."

"I'll play nice," she promised, though the vow was for his benefit and not his parents'. He was obviously extremely upset by everything that had happened, and she didn't want to add to it.

"Thank you. Because I can already guarantee you that they won't." He squeezed her again, then lifted her gently off his lap and onto the couch beside him. "Wait here."

Rachel did, watching him dig through the plastic bin of various skin care and toiletry products she'd stashed under the counter, extracting a small jar of pale green gel. He returned to her and urged her to lie on her stomach across the couch, and she complied without a word. This really wasn't necessary, but if it made him feel better there was no harm.

He raised the back of her skirt again and moved the baggy shorts of her costume's underwear out of the way, exposing the red lines to his sight. She shivered lightly as she felt his hands, infinitely gentle, trace around the hurt area with the softest whisper of a caress.

Jesse always checked for marks after every rehearsal, every workshop. It was part of their routine—tears for the enveloping sadness of their characters' story, cuddles to make them feel better, and Jesse's gentle hands to soothe whatever mild sting might be left from the beating scene. He was always soothing, but also methodical. While Finn probably would have flown off the handle if they'd still been dating, Rachel honestly didn't think there was anything terribly compromising about this contact. He was so...not professional, exactly, but he'd never pushed for this routine to be even remotely sexual. Jesse touched her skin with care and reverence, but not with desire. Not as part of their after-rehearsal routine.

But tonight was no rehearsal, and this was intermission, not the end of the play. There were no tears for their characters, no overwhelming sense of grief from diving so deeply into two soulmates destined to be apart. Instead, Jesse's hands had been desperate and strong just minutes ago as he clutched her, demanding all of her attention even as he asked forgiveness and explained his momentary lapse.

And this time—this time, as he smoothed his fingertips lightly across the back of her upper thigh, she felt the unmistakable velvet touch of his lips follow.

Rachel sucked in a deep breath, her body instantly wobbly as Jell-O, and she was suddenly very glad that she was lying down across her couch instead of standing. He kissed a soft line below the lowest welt on her thigh, slow and sensual, his mouth dragging against her skin. His hand followed, smoothing cool aloe across the angry red marks, agonizingly slow but still so gentle.

"Jesse," she said softly, but she really had no idea what her next words might be. She didn't want him to stop; unlike during a previous memory of his lips on her body in this very room, they were now free to do whatever they pleased with each other. Finn didn't enter into it at all. And she found that she very much wanted him to continue, but there was one big problem with that idea. Intermission only lasted so long, and they were fast running out of time.

"I'm right here," he said, his hand pushing the drawers of her costume higher, and he kissed the smooth skin above the cluster of welts as he applied aloe carefully to all of them. "Your poor skin, sweetheart. I'll have to be careful and aim somewhere else for at least a few days. The question is, higher or lower?" His hands rose, splaying across her clothed backside, and he squeezed gently. "I know what my vote is."

Just like that—no more than a squeeze to her ass and the low, smoky sound of Jesse's voice, and she was wet. She could feel it—feel the sudden surge of desire pulsing between her legs, and all of it—the sting of the welts, the pressure of his hands, the heat of his voice—combined instantly into something she was powerless to control, let alone deny.

"Jesse," she tried again. "I'm—"

"I know." He kissed her leg again, tracing his lips further from the needy ache that had suddenly gripped her, swirling his tongue deliciously behind her knee. "I'll take care of you, Rach," he murmured. "Love you so good."

Yes, she wanted to say. Yes, please. But this was intermission and they were running out of time. Still, she couldn't make a move to stop him as he slid his hands over her ass again, moving further up, warm and firm against her back like a sensual massage.

"The love scene in our play is hardly fair, you know," he said softly, tucking his head near hers and breathing a gust of warm air against the back of her neck. She whimpered, the sound low and needy and utterly out of her control. "Realistic, perhaps, but not fair."

"What do you mean?" she managed to ask, her voice faltering as his lips grazed the nape of her neck.

"It's so quick," Jesse murmured. "Just a few thrusts and he's through. It's probably all the poor boy could handle for a first time but, while I hope his partner enjoyed herself, it wasn't nearly enough to allow her to come." He traced his tongue lightly across the shell of her ear. "It couldn't possibly be."

Rachel swallowed hard as she felt his hand grasp the inside of her knee and slide higher, each touch reverberating through her body. "I don't know what you mean," she whispered. They'd actually talked about this a little bit, with Michael and their choreographer, during the first few times they'd blocked the scene. But questions of Wendla's pleasure had never included an orgasm, only her consent.

"I mean," Jesse said now, his voice hot and fervent against her skin as he slid his hand higher, "that teenage boys learn how to get off quickly. They have it down to a science. But sex with a partner is an art form—even more so when mutual pleasure is the goal. Melchior doesn't know how to please his lover, no matter how much he might want to." His hand slipped between her thighs, pressing the fabric of her drawers against her wet center as he brushed his fingers across her heated skin. "But I do."

Oh, god, she had no doubt of that. His skill as a lover had never been in question—not even the first time around. She hadn't refused his advances because she thought the experience would be physically unpleasant, but because she was afraid of the emotional ramifications, and she just hadn't been ready.

But now...now she moaned slightly as his hand moved, slipping in the baggy leg of her costume's shorts-like underwear, his fingers finding her wet folds for the first time. She shuddered as he dragged his hands, slightly cooler than the temperature of her own flesh, over the slick surface, dipping in. He groaned a little as he felt her wetness coat his fingers, feeling how turned on she was, how willing her body seemed to be.

"Jesse, please," she whimpered, complying as he used his other hand to press her legs further apart, giving him better access.

"Melchior loves her," he murmured, his mouth a whisper away from her neck still as he knelt next to the couch, his hand doing delicious things between her legs. She buried her face in her crooked arm, breath harsh and sharp as she surrendered to the sensation of his hands and voice. "He _wants_ her. He's wanted her since the beginning, but he's denied himself until this moment. When she resists, he expects it. It's just what he told Moritz—she's defending herself until she finally gives in and feels heaven break over her. Except, I don't think she does feel it. Good—yes. Heaven—no. Not like you're going to feel in a moment."

"Jesse," she bit out, and she heard her own voice keening softly as his stroking fingers found her clit. She arched, giving him better access to that tight bundle of nerves, and he rubbed his fingertips softly across it.

"So wet..." he breathed. "You may be untouched, but you're a little bundle of fire. So passionate. So intense." He let his mouth linger against the back of her neck as his hand continued to assault her clit. "It's one of the similarities between you and your character. She's full of passion, too. When I touch you on stage, it's hard to remember sometimes just who's in my arms. In that instant it's like there's no difference between you. Her passion is yours." He kissed her soft skin, his tongue flicking out to taste. "I can't fucking wait until we get back out there and I can see your beautiful nipples again. I'll admit that I don't particularly like having to share that with an audience, but at least they only get to look and not touch."

She whimpered as his hand sped up, rocking her closer to the edge. No one else had ever touched her like this before—no one but herself. She bit back a curse as the overwhelming feelings shot through her. He was marvelously good at this—knew just how to touch to get the desired effect.

"Someday soon I'm going to know this body so well, Rach," he murmured. "I'm going to know how to get you off quickly, and how to draw pleasure out of you for hours in delicious torment. I'm going to know exactly how you taste at each level of arousal, and how it feels to be inside you when you come." His teeth nipped softly at that back of her neck, and Rachel whimpered again. His words and hands combined in a hazy, desperate sort of pleasure that shot right through her, turning her liquid and pliable. Whatever he wanted. She was willing to grant him _anything_, just as long as he didn't stop.

"So good," he said. "I love hearing your noises. I'm Melchior and he is me, but I'm still better at this than he is."

Trust Jesse to be jealous of his _character_, a tiny part of Rachel's mind still able to function whispered. It was a ludicrous proposition, and yet so very _Jesse_.

"Come for me now," he urged, "since Wendla doesn't get to. Show me how good it feels. Let me give you this, to make up for the pain."

The pain of the inevitable tragedy of their characters—the pain of the welts that still marked her upper thighs—yes, there was a lot of hurt to go around. But his words drowned it all out as he twisted his fingers just right and she came, sensation rocketing through every nerve in her body, her muscles clenching and releasing in pulsing waves of deep pleasure.

"Jesse," she whimpered into the crook of her own elbow. "Jesse."

* * *

><p>They missed their makeup touch-up and whatever Michael said to the rest of the cast. Rachel was a little disoriented as they moved from the rush of bodies and delicious sensation to the suddenness of the spotlight once again and the sound of an actor droning a sermon above them as Jesse's body covered hers. His mouth was hot and insistent, his hands needy, and he was a firm weight on top of her, anchoring her to this moment—to the stage, to the narrative happening around them as they moved, no words necessary to explain their actions. It was a primal feeling, even in pantomime, to feel him hovering over her, <em>wanting<em> her. She could feel the eyes of the audience, but they didn't bother her. In that moment, she felt that they were with her on this journey, feeling what she was channeling for them—the emotions of a young girl in the midst of a sexual awakening, giving herself over to the boy she loved for the first time. She gripped Jesse's back as he thrust against her, so intimate and yet so far from the actual act. He was hard, straining against his costume, and the firmness of his body as he pressed against her was delicious.

But all too soon—six or seven thrusts; she wasn't counting—he was gone, sitting next to her instead of pressing his body against hers, and she slipped back into the persona of her character once again, awkward and meek in this moment as she sat up, pulling her dress down and refusing to meet his eyes as he put his arm out toward her and asked if she was all right.

It was the cue to start her favorite of their duets, and she savored the music and the intense connection with her audience as she sang, willing them to understand not only Wendla's plight, caught between piety and love, but also her own situation, so deeply in love with this young man who was fast becoming her everything. He didn't just understand her, he _knew_ her in ways no one else did, or ever could. He was so incredibly talented, and her heart swelled with pride not only to be the one he'd chosen to love, but also to be here in this moment, sharing the spotlight with such a talented partner. She knew she would have other costars in the future, but she was positive that none would ever be as good—no duet would ever feel as perfect as this one right now.

Rachel both felt and heard the rest of their castmates gather around them, joining their voices to the song. She bit back a smile at the knowledge that her girls—the girls who were some of the first real female friends she'd ever had—were backing her, just as their characters backed Wendla. This was where she _belonged_. Not just beside Jesse, though he was a big part of it. But also amid people who believed in her, people who understood her intense drive because they shared it, too.

The music softened slightly as the actor playing Father Kahlbauch took up the last bit of his monologue, and Rachel turned to Jesse for one of her favorite moments of the play. He licked his lips, and instantly her attention was drawn by that one small gesture, her arm reaching for him and sliding around his shoulders as her mouth met his. Warm and sweet, just like always, kissing him was like coming home. Like everything in the world had suddenly fallen into place, and anything wrong was instantly made right again. His tongue moved sensually with hers—against the rules, yes, but no one would know. This was her favorite kiss in the entire play, because it was the longest and, in her mind, the sweetest. Their characters were beyond the first throes of passion at this point, immediate needs assuaged, and this kiss was loving, not sexual. It was a promise that the sudden, unexpected union between them wasn't a one-day affair, but that it meant something deeper to both of them. It was a promise for the future—a future their characters would unfortunately never get, but the promise itself was beautiful just the same.

And then Jonathan as Moritz shooed them all off the stage, and Rachel found herself once again in Jesse's arms.

He was breathing tightly, gripping her fiercely in a corner of the green room while their other castmates ignored—or pretended to ignore—them. Rachel buried her head in the crook of his shoulder, wishing they could steal away back to her dressing room but knowing it wasn't possible. Jesse was needed to sing Moritz's eulogy soon, after which came the high-energy group number "Totally Fucked," and then they would both get a breather as Ernst and Hanschen took their moment in the spotlight.

"You were magnificent."

Rachel smiled, knowing he wasn't just talking about the scene, though that was part of it.

"You were born for this—the stage, the audience, all of it, baby."

"I love it so much," she whispered, squeezing him tightly.

"I know it." He pulled away just enough to smile down at her, looking her face over with a careful fondness that she loved. "You're getting high off of it, aren't you? Almost literally. You look like a happy drunk, without the sloppiness."

His voice held no censure, only a loving kind of amusement, and Rachel couldn't be offended. Particularly because he was really kind of right. That's how she felt—like happy chemicals were colliding in her brain, driving her soaring toward euphoria, but without the addled sort of confusion that came with alcohol. Maybe this is what it felt like to be on Ecstasy, she thought, though she had absolutely no intentions of attempting a personal comparison. She didn't need to ingest something to make her feel good—Jesse and the stage were perfectly capable of doing that on their own. "I can't explain it," she said, shrugging a little. "Everything feels heightened—every touch, every word—like...like I'm experiencing it differently somehow."

"Definitely high." Jesse chuckled. "I know the feeling, Rach."

"You feel it too, don't you?" But it wasn't really a question. She could see from the light in his gorgeous pale blue eyes that he was feeling exactly the same thing.

"Of course." He pulled her against his chest again, and Rachel rested her cheek on his shoulder as she gazed out at the rest of the green room. "They do, too," he murmured, stroking her hair gently, nodding toward their fellow castmembers. "I'll bet you anything that most, if not all, of our cast is flying high tonight absolutely naturally." He paused for a moment, and she felt his arms tighten around her. "Though it's probably not quite the same as what you're feeling." She heard the smile in his voice. "Because you're not just feeling the high, are you?" His mouth moved, angling closer to her ear, and his quiet voice dropped even further. "It turns you on. The people, the attention—all of it."

She swallowed hard. "You were just now pretending to make love to me, Jesse."

"Certainly that doesn't hurt," he agreed, "but it's not the whole reason. Or even the main one, I suspect." His mouth grazed her hairline, traced a careful kiss across her forehead. "How wet are you right now, Rach?"

She pushed him with her shoulder, but he didn't relax his firm grip on her body.

"Tell me," he insisted, soft and low but with an edge of command buried in the words.

She exhaled against him, eying the other people in the room. But no one was paying attention to them as they spoke in low voices or adjusted a costume or went over notes scribbled in their script. She'd actually learned fairly quickly here in New York that actors, while they craved attention, were marvelously good at ignoring each other. "Wet," she admitted, feeling her face flame under the protective covering of her makeup. "But, Jesse, we were just—"

"And if we weren't, you'd still feel like that," he said. "Maybe not as much, but it would still be there. Accept it, Rachel. Embrace it. The stage turns you on. I suspect there's a little exhibitionist streak hiding within you." He chuckled.

"Jesse!" she protested. "I'm still a virgin."

"I'll take care of that anytime you like—just say the word." He kissed her nose as she tipped her head up, meeting his eyes. "But whether or not you've physically done the deed has no bearing on your fantasies. You can't help what turns you on." His smile turned wry. "Embrace it, sweetheart; there's no shame. I know."

Yes; she could feel the evidence of that through his costume and, unlike during rehearsals, it didn't seem to be going away this time. "You feel it, too," she murmured. Even in this, it seemed, they were perfectly matched. While she felt a certain amount of embarrassment that Jesse was able to guess something so private with such startling accuracy, it was drowned out in the intense relief of being able to name what she was feeling, and to be with someone who understood. Finn not only wouldn't have understood, she was fairly certain he would have been horrified, or extremely weirded out at the very least. Her relationship with him had always worked best when she hid the...odder...parts of who she was. For him she had stopped wearing her reindeer sweaters. She'd tried her best to keep her mouth shut during glee rehearsals, knowing how much it bothered him when she voiced unpopular opinions. She'd hidden away parts of herself like objects in a hope chest, waiting for the right time to bring them forth once more.

Now, here in New York with Jesse, she didn't have to do that anymore. He accepted and loved everything about her, even the parts she had learned from other people not to like about herself. Maybe it wasn't terribly feminist or politically correct, but she credited him with slowly reintroducing her to herself when she wasn't brave enough to do it on her own. Her desire was one piece of the puzzle they hadn't touched yet—partially because she'd still been dating Finn for most of her time in New York, but also because it was such a loaded topic. But even in this Jesse was as loving and confident as ever, accepting something she thought was probably pretty weird and showing her that maybe it wasn't so strange after all if he was feeling it, too.

"Rachel," he said softly, pulling her attention back to the moment, "Rachel, sweetheart, I need to leave you here for a minute." He kissed her mouth swiftly, dropping his arms and stepping reluctantly away. "I need to go take care of this; it was fine for our last scene, but I can't go back onstage like this now."

_Accept __it_, he'd told her. _Embrace __it_. She took a breath. "Can I go with you?"

He exhaled deeply, but there was a sparkle in his eye. "Loaded question, much?" His smile was broad. "No, you can't. Much as I would love the pleasure of your company, we don't have that kind of time."

"I won't get in the way," Rachel said quickly. "I just want to watch."

He stared at her for a long minute before his mouth slowly curved up in a satisfied smirk. "Of course you do." He took her hand, giving it a squeeze. "Come with me, then."

* * *

><p>Rachel was positive she was beyond elation. Nothing could compare to this—no high, chemical or otherwise, could <em>touch<em> the feeling of a standing ovation on her first opening night on Broadway. Her heart hammered in her chest as if it wanted to break free and feel the heat of the spots just as much as her skin. She was crying—a mix of happy tears and sad—though she supposed that was only to be expected. Happy because it had all been worth it—the long hours and tedious rehearsals, yes, but also the abuse she'd suffered for years in Ohio, giving her the courage to seize the opportunity Jesse offered her and take this chance. Nothing could ever come close to this, and in a weird, convoluted way, she had Mercedes and Finn and all the rest of them to thank for it. They'd showed her every day, every minute, that she didn't belong in Ohio with the rest of them. And maybe...maybe that last push from Mercedes, that final bitter fight over the role of Maria from West Side Story, had been the proverbial last straw. The thing that finally decided her, once and for all, that she was done trying to hold together a glee club that didn't want to be held together. That she was done with the rude comments and the constant attacks with both words and slushies. If she had to suffer abuse, she was damn well going to do it in New York, among professionals whose opinions actually meant something.

She felt her castmates gently pushing her forward, the threesome of herself, Jesse, and the boy who played Moritz stepping up for their own bow as leads. The crowd roared impossibly louder, and she felt the tears flow even freer as her boys clasped her hands, Jesse on one side and Jonathan on the other, and they took their bows. Jonathan stepped forward by himself and waved to the audience, receiving his own special applause, and Rachel felt Jesse pull her close into his side, the smell of makeup and skin and hot fabric overwhelming her as the crowd went wild. They loved her—they loved her and Jesse _together_—and Rachel didn't think she was capable of dropping or dimming the smile that was plastered across her face. So much for Ohio. This was everything she wanted—everything she had ever dreamed of—and it felt _so_ good. It wasn't anticlimactic at all. This was her dream, and it was perfect. More than perfect, even, because she had Jesse with her.

The house lights came up, but no one moved. Rachel strained her eyes against the afterburn of the spots, and she thought she could make out Kurt and Blaine jumping and clapping enthusiastically in the second row. She found her dads unerringly; Leroy's height and lovely dark skin was easy to spot. They were both crying, but she'd expected that. So was she.

Finally, after what seemed like both forever and just an instant, Jesse released his grip on her and found her hand instead. They left the stage hand in hand, following their castmates, but the euphoria of the moment didn't end. Rachel wasn't even sure she was walking—floating, maybe, she thought. It felt so incredibly good.

"Enjoy it, Rach," Jesse murmured in her ear as the cast gathered backstage to hear Michael's pronouncement. "You deserve every moment of this."

His words warmed her even more—drove her exponentially higher. No one except her fathers and Jesse ever said those things to her. He knew somehow just what to say to make everything better. After years of struggling at McKinley to have her talent noticed, only given the spotlight grudgingly and with contempt, and only when it was absolutely necessary, Rachel was awash in this feeling. Acceptance. Approval. And unlike the applause she received as a member of New Directions, Jesse was telling her now that she deserved it. That it was hers to take and hold in her hands, this moment something she was permitted to reach out and claim for herself. Not something reserved for the others, but something she could fully participate in.

Jonathan abruptly pulled her out of Jesse's arms, much to her boyfriend's dislike, and twirled her furiously around the green room. "You were brilliant!" he said, and a closed-mouth kiss landed near her ear before she was passed off to one of the other boys in the group. Everyone was chattering and hugging, bodies crushing close upon each other, smells of skin and sweat and makeup thick in the air.

Finally some of the raucous talk died down slightly, and Rachel ducked out from under Brian's thick arm, plopping on a couch next to Michael. He tossed an arm over her shoulders and kissed the side of her head. "Well done, kiddo," he said, and his voice was pleasant and loose—something she did not often hear from him. Usually he was rushing everywhere, doing three or five things at once. Here, now, might be the first time she'd ever seen him relax. But he was taking the moment just as the rest of them were, grasping their success and savoring it. Someone popped the cork on a bottle of champagne, which prompted a renewed bout of cheering.

"You have all surpassed my wildest expectations for this production," Michael said, pitching his voice to be heard above the crowd. Instantly everyone quieted. "You were fantastic—every one of you. Every director hopes, every night, that somehow in the mix of cast, crew, and audience, some spark will light and magic will be made." He beamed, and he squeezed Rachel's shoulder. "You made magic tonight. From the first moment the lights came up, Rachel, you were spot-on. Vulnerable, yet bold. Questioning, yet fearful of the answers. The perfect tragic young heroine. Jesse, you had the entire audience in the palm of your hand and Jonathan had them at the edge of their seats. You pulled your roles off perfectly; hope and despair, struggle and defeat. I could _feel_ them rooting for you, for both of you. Moritz doesn't get his due, of course, but they'll always wish it for him, and that's all you, John. All you. Jesse—words can't describe what you did with Melchior tonight. You've created a boundary-breaking hero they can both root for and understand, and in a world full of superheroes running around in capes, that's something to be proud of. You created a _real_ hero. A flawed and deeply hurting young man, yet one that's ultimately stronger than the system he's fighting against. Well done, sir. Well done indeed." He tapped Rachel's shoulder and tipped her chin up, measuring her eyes as he so often did, judging what he found there. She was calm under her director's scrutiny—unlike with Mr. Schue or any other authority figure she had, she was unafraid of what Michael might say. She trusted him implicitly. If he told her she needed to work on something, she accepted the wisdom of his words and redoubled her efforts. Because he was a professional, and he treated her with the respect she'd never had from an authority figure other than her fathers before.

"Are you okay, kiddo?" he asked, teasing set aside for the moment. "No open wounds?"

"Nothing like that," she assured him, feeling Jesse steal the spot on her other side. She leaned into his arm, knowing he wouldn't be pleased with the subject of Michael's question. She was glad her director had noticed and cared enough to ask how she felt, but it really wasn't necessary. She was fine. Her legs would heal, and Jesse had promised never to do it again. That was enough for her. The vague sting on her thighs wasn't cause to ruin the high of this evening.

"I know you all have people waiting for you," Michael said, releasing her to Jesse's care. "Don't forget the afterparty—there will be press, so dress appropriately. Since most of you are underage," he cast a glance at the champagne bottle that was being passed from person to person without regard for either age or sanitation, "please behave yourselves. Just because there's an open bar doesn't mean the law no longer exists."

"That's for the after-afterparty," one of the boys joked.

Michael rolled his eyes but did not offer a rebuke. "Just remember that you have another show tomorrow," he said. "And the day after that. This is when things get real, people."

Rachel knew that. But she refused to feel worried about it, or believe that tomorrow would be any different than today. Because today was magic, and the thought that she got to do it all over again, and again and again, was...perfect. Everything she could ever want.

After a few more congratulatory words, reaching each member of the cast in turn, Michael left them. Some members of the cast were already peeling off layers of costume, coats and ties and even a couple of dresses flung here and there over backs and arms of chairs. Jesse did not seem particularly inclined to release her, but he also didn't say anything when the champagne bottle made its way into her hands and she took a swig before handing it off. The bubbly liquid rolled in her belly, and she laughed as she squeezed Jesse. "Come on," she urged. "Let's go wash this crap off our faces so I can kiss you properly."

He didn't argue, and Rachel led the way to her dressing room so they could begin the arduous process of stripping layers of Ben Nye product off their faces. Normally Jesse cleaned up and changed his clothes in his own dressing room before coming to see her, but today was a special day and he didn't seem particularly fond of the idea of separating. Even during the short walk down the hall, his hand did not release hers. She squeezed it gently, watching as he shut and locked the door behind him. Whether he was still feeling guilty and therefore protective, or he was merely prolonging the inevitable by holding off the encounter with his parents, Rachel didn't know. She didn't particularly care, either. Adrenaline was still racing through her system, and she didn't want to waste a moment of her time tonight. She would never get another first opening night, and she planned utterly to make the most of it.

It was surprisingly peaceful to share the routine of putting Wendla and Melchior aside for the night. They took turns at her tiny sink and in front of the gigantic mirror, scrubbing with fingers and washcloths and makeup remover, then sluicing with warm water, back and forth until every trace was gone. After a change of clothes and a light moisturizer as an apology to their poor abused skin, Rachel felt ready to face just about anything. Even Jesse's parents.

"More aloe?" he asked, and Rachel giggled, bouncing slightly in place, eager to dispense with the unpleasantries and get to the rest of the evening. Not having clothes in her dressing room, Jesse was still in his costume, though he'd shed his jacket and tie and rolled his sleeves up. He looked just as he did during the hayloft scene, and it was her favorite of his various costume changes by far. She snapped one side of his suspenders playfully. "We don't have that kind of time. Unless you'd _like_ to greet your parents sporting a—"

"Careful, Rach," he warned, though there was amusement in his voice. "Later tonight, then."

There was no reason—absolutely no reason—why a promise of first aid would make her feel so warm. Rachel knew that intellectually. But she knew—she _knew_—that that wasn't all he meant, and that knowledge burned in her belly with a silent promise. "Okay," she said quietly, not even entirely sure what she was agreeing to, only knowing that she meant it with everything she was.

He slipped his arms around her from behind, holding her close. "Let's go get me changed before we face the wolves, huh?"

But it wasn't to be. Rachel spied them before Jesse did—a woman in fur and a man in an overcoat, waiting impatiently outside his dressing room door. He tensed the moment he saw them, and Rachel knew at once that they had to be his parents. Even from the back they looked daunting. Rachel expected Jesse to drop his arm from around her waist, but instead he drew her closer, his grip firm. _Don't __let __them __intimidate __you_, she told herself, repeating Jesse's edict from earlier. This was _her_ night—her moment. No one could bring her down, not even Jesse's parents.

Besides, they couldn't be that bad, could they? He was such a wonderful person. Surely some of that had to be due to his parents?

Jesse's father saw them before his mother. He turned, and the bland look of bored impatience sharpened into something Rachel did not like at all. He eyed her up and down before turning to Jesse with a raised eyebrow. "Does life imitate art, son?"

Jesse scowled. Rachel knew just what his face would look like drawn up in his furious scowl, though she didn't quite dare to look. She did go over her outfit in her head, wondering if there was something objectionable about it. Her female castmates had helped her select a more grown-up look for their first afterparty, after she expressed a wish to be seen as more than just the baby of the group. It was subtly sexy without being overtly risqué, she thought, but after that blandly displeased look Jesse's dad had leveled at her, she wasn't so sure. Short—but not indecently so—black skirt, black kitten heels, and a deep red, almost maroon, lace-trimmed cami that set off the dusky tones in her skin and made it glow. One of the girls had even loaned her a belt made of several delicate silver chains woven together, the end of which dangled enticingly beside her left hip. Was it too much? Compared to Phoebe and Lauren's planned ensembles, she thought she looked pretty plain, actually.

"Jesse!" His mother turned at the sound of her husband's voice, and Rachel's eyes widened. Jesse's mother was stunning. She had the unmistakable perfection of someone who had good genes and the money to work up from there, and Rachel swallowed hard, trying to tell herself not to be cowed. The woman was _tall_—she was barely a finger's breadth shorter than her husband—and she had masses of curly red hair that had been tinted and tamed into something glamorously elegant. She was stately and sharp, and Rachel felt like a little goat in her presence—something little and dark and not altogether pleasing. "Jesse, darling, give your mother a kiss."

She reached for him, and Rachel felt a sudden spike of panic as Jesse's arm left her own waist and he stepped forward to embrace his mother. In that instant, she didn't notice that every line of his body dripped reluctance, or that his face clearly showed how much he did not want to be doing this. What mattered was that a line had been drawn the moment his parents turned around and now they were pulling Jesse across it. She took a deep breath and steeled her spine, resolutely staying where she was. Jesse had _said_ he wanted her here. She was therefore going to stay, no matter how much a part of her wanted to just creep away.

Hello, little missy," Jesse's father said in a falsely upbeat voice, and he reached his hand toward her. "You were the little girl on stage with Jesse here, yes? That's an awfully big role for such a little girl."

Rachel bristled, though she bit back her angry retort just in the nick of time. No way was she going to go off on Jesse's father—presumably a very rich and powerful man.

Not yet, anyway.

"This is Rachel Berry," Jesse said, and she felt an immense sense of relief when he stepped away from his mother and took her hand. His palm was warm and ever so slightly sweaty, the only outward sign that belied just how uncomfortable he was. "My costar...and my girlfriend."

Rachel was mildly surprised by that introduction; she'd half expected him to leave that last part out, and she wouldn't have held it against him if he had. She was utterly used to not being good enough, which was clearly how Jesse's parents viewed her.

But not Jesse. He held her hand tightly and stood beside her, and Rachel could do nothing but squeeze back and wait for the fallout. Whatever happened, he was hers—together.

"Isn't she a little young for you, son?" his father asked, clearly trying to sound a little joking, a little light.

"I'm seventeen," Rachel said quietly.

"They might let you play with makeup and costumes in the theater, sweetie," his mother said disdainfully, "but that doesn't make you a grown-up. You can't be a day over fourteen—and just between us girls, when you lie about your age, you want to shave years off, not pile them on. When you reach my age, you'll appreciate that little nugget." Her smile was cold.

"And you're what? Twenty-two, twenty-three by now?" Jesse's father added.

"Nineteen," Jesse bit out. Really, his birthday was in a matter of days, which Rachel thought was perhaps an important detail, but his parents didn't jump on the fact that he would be twenty soon. Did they even know when his birthday was, she wondered?

"You hear that, Hannah?" Jesse's father said, chuckling. "We're younger than we thought!"

Nobody joined him in his laughter.

"Where are your parents, dear?" Jesse's mother asked, looking around as if a pair of middle-aged people might suddenly appear out of nowhere. "What denomination are they?"

"Denomination?" asked Rachel hesitantly. She didn't think she liked the way this conversation was headed.

"Denomination," the older woman repeated, sounding impatient again. "Episcopalian, Baptist, Congregationalist, Lutheran...it's not a difficult question."

"Mother," Jesse snapped, and there was a dangerous note of electricity in his voice, like a live wire buzzing ominously below the words, "don't do this. Look at her—she's obviously Jewish."

"Well, Mediterranean, clearly," his mother said, talking over his attempts to continue, "but a rugged complexion like that can mean so many things." She eyed Rachel appraisingly, and the tight line of her mouth made it clear that she was not pleased with what she saw. "You're a native New Yorker, then? What does your father do?"

"I'm from Ohio," Rachel said softly. She wasn't going to answer the other question unless she had to. _Way_ too loaded.

"We went to high school together." Jesse glanced at Rachel and the corner of his mouth quirked. "Briefly."

"Rachel, honey?"

She turned to find her dads, Kurt, and Blaine in the hallway behind them, and she couldn't help the face-splitting grin that broke over her mouth, nor her immediate reaction to lunge for them. Jesse was going to have to fend for himself for a minute—she had the other men in her life to hug and make much of.

Leroy was in front, and she rushed into his arms first, feeling them close tightly around her. She was entirely wrapped up in the moment, completely oblivious to the shocked looks on Jesse's parents' faces, but Jesse himself was highly amused as he watched his mother and father stare at the scene before them in consternation. Rachel was currently in the arms of her tall African-American father, her more delicate-looking dad waiting impatiently for his turn. Kurt and Blaine were both chattering a mile a minute, and no one could possibly mistake either one for Rachel's brother. Not with Kurt's fair milkmaid complexion or Blaine's intriguing mix of ethnicities.

"What is going on here?" Jesse's father demanded. "Did the circus just come to town?"

"That," Jesse said proudly, "is Rachel's family." He honestly couldn't have written a better entrance for them, and he made a mental note to thank both Hiram and Leroy for their impeccable timing later. His parents' unexpected and unwelcome appearance today had really shaken him, to the point where he'd lost his head for a moment and really hurt Rachel during a scene that he hated to begin with. While she seemed to bear no grudge, he wasn't entirely willing to absolve himself yet. She was the sweetest person he'd ever known, so intense and passionate and pure, and it killed him that he'd done something to cause her pain, however fleeting. And while he did not for one minute believe anyone but he was responsible for his actions, he was still furious with his parents both for interrupting what was possibly the single greatest night of his life, and for a certain amount of culpability in his actions.

"Jesse St. James," his father said, putting a firm hand on his shoulder, "we need to talk. Now."

Jesse had no wish to talk to his parents, particularly when his father used that tone of voice, but he wasn't about to cause a scene out here in the hallway. He reluctantly let them into his dressing room, closing the door behind them. At least now Rachel would get her happy reunion with her dads and Kurt and Blaine, and none of them would have to witness how the St. James clan operated.

"Jesse, son," Martin St. James continued, finding his wife a seat, "I have to say, this isn't what we expected to find when we signed up to come see your Broadway debut."

"Most disappointing," his mother added. "You have to know, Jesse, that that girl isn't St. James material."

Jesse took a deep breath. He'd known this discussion was coming for a while. If it was happening now, then it was happening now. Rachel was his, and he had absolutely no intention of giving her up, no matter what his parents said. "Why?" he said, folding his arms as he leaned against his closed door. "Because she's human and not some angel?"

"Don't make us spell it out for you. You're old enough now to understand." Martin settled near his wife on Jesse's only other chair. "There are certain...certain expectations of us as a family, and a girl like that just doesn't figure into it."

"'A girl like that,'" Jesse scoffed. "You don't even know her."

"And I'm sure she's a fun girl and everything, but you're getting to an age now, Jesse, where our family friends—_important_ people—are beginning to watch what you do and with whom you do it. This isn't high school anymore. You need to start thinking about how your actions impact the family."

"And being a phenomenal success at twenty isn't enough of a positive impact on the family?" Jesse demanded.

"Son, if you must act, you'd _better_ be a phenomenal success, that's all there is to it," his mother said with a shrug. "You know this isn't what your father and I had in mind for you, though at least it's better than Jenny's inability to look like a proper lady and Justin's unhealthy obsession with those dirty little dogs." She shuddered lightly. "But it's not enough. Jesse, let me be perfectly frank. With their...oddities...your brother and sister are probably never going to have a stable relationship, let alone a successful marriage. That leaves you the task of continuing the St. James legacy, which is why this is so desperately important. You don't have the luxury of being the black sheep of the family, because your brother and sister have both already claimed that title. If things were different, perhaps a certain amount of latitude in your relationship choice might be allowable, but as things stand...you understand, don't you, son?"

"No," he snapped, "frankly, I don't. Come out and say it straight out, I dare you. You can go on and on about the St. James legacy till Michaelmas Tuesday, as Grandmother St. James used to say, but you're afraid to call it what it is."

"I hope you're not insinuating that we're _racist_," Hannah said, raising a protesting hand to her mouth. "Jesse, we don't _discriminate_. It's just...what kind of family is that, anyway?"

"A loving one, I can assure you." He was holding onto his patience by the thinnest of threads, and only because he had been prepared for this conversation for a long time now. Jesse knew full well that Rachel was never going to pass muster with his parents, particularly when it came to her family. There was just too much uniqueness surrounding her for his parents to ever be comfortable with it. She was a Jewish girl with two gay dads and a penchant for attracting gay boys as friends. She was an actress, too—perhaps not quite as reprehensible, but still far from ideal. If his parents ever witnessed one of her epic temper tantrums, he was sure they'd be horrified. While she had impeccable manners when she chose, there were certainly times when she did _not_ choose to employ them, and that was something the St. James clan didn't stand for, particularly from women. Jesse thought Rachel in a temper was completely hot, kind of adorable, and more than a little frightening, but he was positive his parents wouldn't see it that way.

"That's not what your mother meant," his father spoke up, "and you know it. That little girl obviously isn't half-black, so what was she doing all over that man?"

"_That __man_," Jesse said, "is her father. Not biological, no, but he and his partner raised her from an infant, and they worship the ground she walks on."

"How did two men end up with a baby, anyway?" his father grumbled. "It's not right. Just...unnatural. Is she an Israeli orphan or something? Did they have to lie to some foreign embassy to get a kid?"

"Not exactly."

Jesse froze. He knew that voice. It was a voice that haunted his dreams sometimes—a voice that had been a constant echoing, harping refrain for four very long years during his youth. He honestly had never expected to hear it again.

Turning his head, he found Shelby Corcoran standing, tall and proud, in the doorway of his dressing room.

* * *

><p><em>AN: *cough* So...everyone knows the Barrymore reference is to the distinguished acting dynasty, of which Drew is only the most recent incarnation, right? I don't need to explain who Lionel Barrymore is to this crowd? _

_Mwah! Loves you, duckies!_


	19. Run Jesse Run S1

_A/N: Hey, guys! So, some explanation. This is one of two alternate versions I have of the same story, which were both meant to be posted as the grand finale for St. Berry Week II. But my muse wasn't cooperating and then RL went down the drain, and I'm just now getting these ready to post. I've been wrestling with this particular storyline for months, because I couldn't decide if it should be set in Season 1 or Season 2. I had good reasons for both, and even bitched to Northstar a little bit about how frustrating it was not to know what to do. Well, I've now just gone and written both, and I'm giving them both to you (eventually). There's a fair amount of overlap because, really, it's the same story. But maybe it's interesting to see different versions, and how things change, and whatnot? IDK, it makes sense in my mind anyway._

_ALSO, I've included at the end a "sneak peek" of more of the joint project androgenius and I have been working on, **See if I Can Sleep**. Because, yes, we're still working on it, and no, it hasn't been abandoned. RL has just been overwhelming for both of us. But I have a bribe out to her, so hopefully we'll get chapter 2 up soon!_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

><p><strong>Run Jesse Run (Season 1)<strong>

"Rachel!"

He hadn't seen it coming. Oh, god, he hadn't seen it coming. What kind of idiot girl was she to go and step into the middle of an altercation like that? His body shook, and he didn't care if anybody saw. Let them call him a pansy. Let them call him a fruit. He didn't _care_. Why on earth had she done it? They were friends, he guessed. Sort of. A little. He respected her talent, anyway. Sometimes. When she wasn't being insufferably obnoxious about it. Which, more often than not, she was. God, why? Why had she _done_ it? She was selfish and conceited, and she didn't think or care about anyone but herself. That was why Finn didn't like her—though, thankfully, she seemed to have backed off that particular obsession as of late. She wasn't panting after him as sadly as she had at the beginning of the year, anyway.

"Kurt!"

The voice was familiar, and Kurt looked up in time to see his choir director fighting to get to him. That was what was happening, right? Rachel was on the ground, and she wasn't moving. Karofsky and Azimio were to blame. And Mr. Schue was yelling, though it sounded funny. Like he was underwater, or his teacher was. Maybe they both were. Maybe that funny ringing sound was also underwater with them. It was an annoying ringing sound. He wished it would stop.

Why had Rachel done it?

"Kurt! Sit _down_."

Another male voice this time—not Mr. Schue. But the authority in it was unmistakable, so Kurt sat. He'd always been rather good at following directions. Immediately the ringing in his ears lessened.

"Tuck your head between your knees and take deep breaths," the voice ordered. "Don't you dare go into shock."

The body belonging to that voice was kneeling near him; he could see dark curls set against a face whiter than cracked ice. Sharp blue eyes raked over him for an instant; he knew that look, and the face that went with it. It was Rachel's boyfriend, Jesse. Her gorgeous-beyond-belief boyfriend that Kurt was completely and utterly envious of. Not envious of him for having Rachel, of course, but the other way around. He was _delicious_.

And almost as obnoxious as Rachel.

Jesse. Right. _That_ was the reason Rachel hadn't been poking hopefully after Finn for a while now. He knew that—had met Jesse by accident when he was over at her house to borrow a book. She had the best library of Broadway biographies and keepsake books of various performances, and she was always happy to share. It had been a Bernadette Peters biography that particular day, hadn't it? Or was it the Angela Lansbury? Anyway, Rachel had seemed impatient to get rid of him, and when he met Jesse at the front door, one boy leaving and the other entering, he knew why.

They'd sworn him to secrecy, vowing to destroy his Neil Patrick Harris shrine if he ever so much as _thought_ Jesse's name where a member of New Directions might pick it up via osmosis.

"I didn't do it," Kurt said, bringing his knees to his chest. "I swear I didn't do it." Jesse could get intense when his temper was riled. What if he thought Kurt had somehow been complicit in the attack? Oh, god, what if he _was_? Unintentionally, but still. Rachel had come to _his_ defense. Wasn't he, then, at least partially to blame?

"Of course you didn't do it, you idiot," Jesse snapped. "Rachel's tough enough to take on two of you. Shut the hell up and breathe, why don't you? You won't be helping anyone here if you pass out."

Jesse usually said what he thought with little regard for anyone else's feelings; Kurt was used to that. He ignored the irritated words and focused on their meaning because, as usual, Jesse was right. Passing out wouldn't do anyone any favors at this point. He lay his head on his knees and watched as Jesse carefully pulled Rachel's limp form off the parking lot blacktop and into his arms. Kurt had been through first-aid training at some point—why couldn't he remember when?—and he wondered whether it was wise to move someone with a head injury, but he didn't know for sure so he held his peace. He _did_ know firsthand that suggesting Jesse St. James release his girlfriend when he didn't want to was not a good idea.

"Rachel," Jesse said softly. "Rachel, can you hear me? It's Jesse." He paused. "Wake up and yell at me, okay? I'd be good with that." It was such a different voice than the one he'd used two seconds ago to bark at Kurt. The words were still swift, still harried, but they carried a wealth of desperation and need. "Of all the fucking ridiculous stunts to pull! I saw what was going down. I would have been there in another heartbeat if you had just waited for me."

He would? That was nice of Jesse, Kurt thought. Sticking up for him and all. They weren't even friends. Or were they? He didn't think he was friends with Rachel, but for some reason—god knew why—she had stepped between him and the angry duo of Azimio and Karofsky. Had _shoved_ the former, and yelled at them both to leave him alone. After the stunt he pulled, deceiving her about Finn's taste in girls, she still was willing to do something like that, and he truly didn't know why. Rachel didn't care about people other than herself—and Jesse by extension. She didn't have friends, not really, and she didn't seem to want them.

But then why had she done it?

Slowly, as he breathed a little more, the feeling of being underwater began to fade. Memory sharpened and blurred again, and the noises from the rest of the parking lot came back into focus.

"What the hell happened here?" Mr. Schue was demanding. Kurt turned his head and looked up at his choir director. Schue and one of the janitors were holding Karofsky, and Coach Tanaka had Azimio. The jocks didn't even look like they were really trying to fight anymore, and Kurt wasn't surprised. Three against two and a growing mob of onlookers, aka witnesses, weren't good odds. "Kurt! What happened?"

"I was going to my car," Kurt said. The images were blurry, but they were there in his mind. "After glee rehearsal."

"I know what time it is, Kurt," Mr. Schue said, and though the words were impatient his voice was gentle. "What happened after that?"

"They came out of nowhere," Kurt said accusingly, and he felt safe enough to shoot the stinkeye at both Karofsky and Azimio. "Threatened me and started pushing me around. It's been going on for a while now and usually I just walk away but I was pinned against the back of a car. That car." He indicated the hatchback Jesse was currently kneeling behind, his girlfriend held firmly against his chest. Kurt wanted to watch Rachel, to see if she showed any signs of waking, but Mr. Schue's questions pulled him back. "I thought it was all over for me, but she came striding over like she does. Got in their faces—told them to pick on someone their own size."

Mr. Schue closed his eyes. It was a telling look—he knew immediately just how foolish Rachel's interference had been. Kurt knew, too. She was tiny—smaller than him—and she had paced right up to the two giants in Titan red as if she owned the world and they were nothing but minions who had failed to toe the line. The picture of her furious little frame standing, fierce and strong, in front of Azimio and Karofsky was burned into his mind—how her feet were planted in a wide stance, her skirt fluttering around her legs in the slight wind, her head tilted up so she could stare into their faces. For a moment, they had actually looked a little cowed. Maybe it was only surprise—shock that a girl, a small girl no less, was willing to do what Finn and the other boys on the team were not. Kurt had seen her angry before, but he'd never seen her so adamant. Her dark eyes had absolutely lit with fire, and there was a warm flush to her cheeks as she waded into the confrontation with a will and absolutely no visible fear.

Had she felt fear at all? Was she so talented, such a good actress, that she was able to hide her nerves? Or had she truly believed she was able to take on the school's biggest bullies singlehandedly? Well, singlehandledly besides Kurt. He was there. If things hadn't gotten out of hand so incredibly quickly, he would have helped. He thought. Maybe.

"Azimio was the one who actually hit her," Kurt said, feeling a vicious kind of glee as he tattled. Serve them both right. They were in serious trouble this time. Not only had they really injured someone, but it was a girl. In the 1950's or whatever that probably would have counted double. Even now, it had to be at least one-and-a-half times worse than just beating up a guy, right? "He swung and she ducked, but she didn't move fast enough. He knocked her off balance, I think; she fell backward and hit her head on the bumper of the car."

"She's moving," Coach Tanaka observed. "That's quite a dent she put in that bumper. Looks like your kid did more damage to the car than it did to her."

"_Ken_." Mr. Schuester shot his colleague a withering look.

"Just saying."

It was probably true, Kurt thought. If anyone had a hard head, it was Rachel. And she _had_ dented the bumper. But that didn't mean she wasn't hurt. There was a telltale wet spot on the blacktop where her head had been—not a pool of blood, not even a puddle, but any at all had him worried. Someone had _bled_ for him. Literally. And he'd never even really thought of her as a friend.

Jesse was holding her tightly, and his mouth was moving as he whispered words to her that Kurt couldn't hear. The muscles in his entire beautiful body were tense as he held his girlfriend, his soft pink lips close to her head. He moved a hand up under the dark fall of her hair and she winced, her body jerking slightly as he touched the back of her head.

"Shh," he said, a little louder this time. "I know it hurts, baby. Wake up for me. Come on. Tell me I'm a chauvinistic imbecile for worrying about you. Tell me you were perfectly capable of handling this yourself. Tell me anything—just wake up."

The words were dark with desperate meaning, and Kurt couldn't fathom how Jesse must feel right now. He had to care about Rachel deeply if he was willing to put up with her, and now she was unconscious and hurt. He had to have seen it happen to have got to them so quickly. To watch someone at least double Rachel's body weight throw a swing at her—to see it connect, witness her go down and not be close enough to do anything about it... How horrible, Kurt thought. Terrifying. No wonder he had picked her up immediately and was looking like he'd never let her go again.

Slowly Rachel shifted in Jesse's arms—not the first movement she'd made, but it was reassuring nonetheless. She tucked her head further into the crook of his shoulder and Jesse took her arm, sliding it around his neck. Kurt saw her muscles tighten as she hugged him under her own power, and a softly tender look swept across Jesse's expressive face.

"There's my girl," he said. "Just sit tight. You're going to be fine. Everything's going to be fine."

"I had Miss Pillsbury call the police when I heard the commotion," Will said, and his voice was calm and low—just right, Kurt thought, for easing rattled nerves. "We'll get an ambulance out here, too."

"What for?" Kurt stretched his legs experimentally as he sat on the hard pavement. The bullies had barely touched him. He was fine.

"For Rachel," Mr. Schue said slowly. "She hit her head, and while Coach Tanaka is right that she's moving, it's not a good idea to ignore that kind of thing."

Oh. Right. Rachel. Kurt felt color rushing to his face. He hadn't quite meant it the way it sounded, though. Yes, he knew Rachel was hurt. But the way Jesse was holding her, and she him, it almost seemed like that was the only thing in the world she needed. This was no fairy tale where a lover's kiss would heal everything, but Rachel clung to Jesse as if it was. An ambulance almost seemed superfluous at this point, though the wet spot on the blacktop told a different story.

She shifted again as if trying to get even closer to Jesse, though Kurt didn't think that was physically possible at the moment. Her body huddled into his embrace, a shudder passing through her once—whether fear or pain, Kurt couldn't say.

"Shh," Jesse said. "It's okay. I've got you." He tucked her head under his chin, and Kurt swallowed hard. He wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of the look Jesse now threw at the two thugs. It was vicious and all-consuming; he had no doubt that, were Jesse not wrapped around his injured girlfriend, Mr. Schuester would have to break up another fight. And while Jesse was nowhere near as behemoth as Azimio or Karofsky, Kurt wouldn't bet against him. Not at a time like this. Not with Rachel on the line.

"Rachel!"

Well, that was an unwelcome voice. Kurt tensed as Finn burst onto the scene, Quinn close behind him. The rest of the glee club had assembled some time ago—maybe Finn had snuck off with Quinn for a private moment and they hadn't heard the yelling. "What happened?" Finn reached for Rachel, a lanky arm outstretched to touch, but she whimpered—a childlike sound Kurt had never heard from her before—and shied away.

"Don't touch her!" Jesse snapped, and his hand came up to hold her head, shielding her from the contact she had so obviously rejected. "Leave her the hell alone!"

"Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?" Finn demanded, and he reached for her again.

Rachel made another protesting noise, louder this time, and her body shook as she tried to stay in Jesse's arms while keeping away from Finn's insistent hand.

"Don't fuck with me, dude; quit it," Jesse warned, and his voice was dark and commanding. "Can't you see you're scaring her?"

Kurt wouldn't have dared disobey Jesse's order—not when it was issued in a voice like that. His heart began to pick up speed as he watched the scene. Finn didn't know about Jesse, but Jesse knew all about Finn. Knew how Rachel had crushed on him, and how Finn had used that to his advantage when he wanted her to rejoin the glee club for his own selfish motives. He knew Finn had kissed Rachel once in McKinley's auditorium and then had sworn her to secrecy, as if ashamed of her and what had happened between them. Rachel was always brutally honest, and Kurt had no doubt that her version of events, though likely told in high dramatic style, was essentially correct. Jesse definitely wouldn't be feeling very charitable toward Finn under any circumstances, but the way the other boy had barged into this mess wasn't helping matters.

"Rachel's not scared of me."

Finn's scoffing disregard for Jesse's rising anger was going to get him socked; Kurt could already see that. He felt bad for the foolish boy he'd had a crush on since high school started, but Finn _was_ kind of asking for it.

"Finn, maybe you should keep back," Mr. Schue said gently. "She obviously doesn't like it."

"Is she even awake?"

"She hit her head hard," Jesse snapped. "She's confused—cut her some slack."

"Who are you, anyway?" Finn asked irritably.

Jesse refused to answer. He turned his attention back to the girl in his arms. "It's okay, Rach," he said. "It's fine. The ambulance is coming."

Kurt slowly rose to his feet. His legs were shaky, but other than that he was fine. The two thugs had only got in a couple of shoves before Rachel broke up the fight. He was okay.

"He's Rachel's boyfriend," he said, leaning carefully against a car and hoping it didn't have an alarm. He suspected Finn would just keep demanding Jesse's part in all of this until someone told him, and Jesse seemed not to care to, so he decided to step in. No one else in the glee club was supposed to know about Jesse; he was shaken from the ordeal, but he remembered that much. But everyone had seen Jesse now anyway, and it seemed fairly pointless to continue to pretend. "Jesse St. James."

"Her _boyfriend_?" Santana demanded, sounding distinctly skeptical. "Since when?"

"I don't know exactly," Kurt admitted. "Months."

"You know, I can still hear you," Jesse grated out. "And it's none of your damn business."

"_Please_." Santana crossed her arms and leveled Jesse with her best withering look. "If you were really her boyfriend, you wouldn't be so ashamed to be seen with her. Which you must be, if you've been hiding the relationship. Admit it—she embarrasses you."

"Actually," Kurt murmured, breaking in before Jesse could start yelling, "it's the other way around. Rachel told him he wasn't to be seen with her around McKinley because she didn't want to hear crap from you guys about dating someone from another," he stopped himself just in time, "...school."

In the ensuing silence the tapping noise of heels was distinctly heard, and Kurt turned to see their redheaded guidance counselor join the mob forming around Rachel and Jesse. Miss Pillsbury wasn't generally good for much, but at least she was another adult. Maybe she could help keep the peace between Finn and Jesse, which seemed about to explode if Finn tried to touch Rachel again. "There's an ambulance coming," she said breathlessly, exchanging a look with Mr. Schue, "but the police will be here first."

At the word "police" Azimio and Karofsky began struggling again. "Dude!" Azimio hollered, his coach's hand fisted in the shirt at the back of his neck, "you can't call the cops on us for enforcing the natural order! We can't have queers strutting around like they fucking own this school!"

"And because of your hate, an innocent girl has been seriously injured," Mr. Schue said, redoubling his hold on Karofsky.

"That chick's not innocent," the boy growled. "She was asking for it."

"She wasn't asking to be slammed into the bumper of a car!" Kurt shot back. "She was standing up for me."

"This is the last straw," Mr. Schue said seriously. "Things have gotten way out of hand. This constant trouble between the jocks and my glee kids has to stop _now_."

"Oh, it's stopping all right." Jesse's voice was dark. Kurt watched as he slid a hand slowly down Rachel's back, rubbing gently, before reaching into the pocket of her light jacket and pulling out her sparkly pink phone. "For Rachel, anyway. She's not coming back."

"Son, that's not really your call to make," Mr. Schue started gently, but as he spoke the sound of sirens drowned out his voice. Two police cars pulled into the parking lot, but Jesse wasn't paying attention to Rachel's choir director or the approaching law enforcement. He opened her phone and pressed a couple of buttons.

"Someone should call her dads," Mr. Schue said as he and the janitor handed Karofsky over to one of the police officers.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Jesse's terse voice grated out of his throat as he raised the pink sparkly phone to his ear. He didn't seem to care about how ridiculous it looked, and Kurt couldn't hide a small smile. That was the mark of a true man, he felt.

The police didn't seem inclined to argue with the teachers about who needed to be taken into custody, but once Azimio and Karofsky were secured with plastic zip ties—Kurt was a little disappointed that metal cuffs weren't apparently in order—they paused to survey the scene.

"Leroy," Jesse said after a moment. "Leroy, look—no, it's me. Yes, I do have your number in my own phone, but I'm currently sitting on it. Leroy, _please_. Rachel's hurt."

"Let's just calm down a minute and see if we can figure out what went on here," one of the officers said. He looked at Mr. Schuester, Coach Tanaka, and the janitor. "Who wants to begin?"

"Kurt was just telling us," Mr. Schue started, "that these two known school bullies were pestering him out here in the parking lot." He raised his voice. "Did they actually touch you, Kurt? Was this a physical altercation before Rachel showed up?"

Kurt nodded shakily, reminding himself that the two football players were currently restrained and couldn't do anything to him. "They shoved me—threw insults. Threatened worse."

"And Rachel came to your defense?"

Kurt nodded again, turning to look at Rachel and Jesse. "It's complicated," the curly-haired boy said into the phone. "Look, can you just...I know. I _know_. No, we're waiting for the ambulance now. If you meet us at the hospital—yes, I'll ride with her. Trust me, I'm never letting her out of my sight again."

The sound of another siren pierced the air, and Kurt was jolted back to reality. "Yes," he said quickly. "She got in the middle of things."

"So it could have been an accident?" one of the officers probed. "The blow could have been meant for you?"

"No," Kurt said firmly. The whole incident went blurry after Rachel planted herself in front of Azimio and Karofsky, but that much he knew for sure. They had laughed, doubled over, almost choking with mirth at the ridiculous situation. Only after that had they grown serious again. Azimio had grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanking him onto his toes, ignoring Rachel's form trying to stand between them. Her dark hair had swirled around her shoulders as she grabbed the huge fist and flung it away from Kurt. But Azimio had only laughed. "Getting bitches to do your dirty work for you now?" he taunted. "Maybe he's operating under the assumption that we wouldn't hit a girl," Karofsky said. "If so, he guessed wrong."

_That_ had been when Azimio struck. No, there was no accident involved. The jock had aimed for Rachel, and Kurt didn't want to even think about the sort of damage that could have been done if she hadn't had the sense to duck. She just hadn't moved quite fast enough, and the intended punch turned into a glancing blow that knocked her off balance.

Not that it mattered now. She was hurt, it was Azimio's fault, and that was _seriously_ all anyone needed to know. Wasn't it? Was there anything else even close to reaching that level of importance?

"Rachel," Finn said, reaching for her again. She shied away, and even Kurt winced at the whimper that was torn from her throat. This time Jesse moved, shoving away the arm clad in Titan red.

"Dude, I _told_ you not to touch her!" he snapped, his voice rising.

"Finn," Mr. Schuester said, "please, don't make it worse."

"I don't trust this guy." Finn folded his arms, but he didn't back away. "He's a stranger!"

"Not to Rachel," Kurt said shakily. "She trusts him."

"_I_ don't."

"Rachel," Miss Pillsbury said softly, and she reached out as well. Kurt assumed Rachel would be fine with the feminine arm, but just as when Finn tried to touch her, she whimpered and pulled away. Unlike Finn, the guidance counselor was smart enough to withdraw quickly.

"Is she confused?" Mr. Schuester asked, frowning. He stepped closer. "She's obviously not fully conscious."

"Just leave us _alone_." Jesse was almost yelling by now, and he gripped Rachel tightly. "The ambulance is on its way. Give her some space."

Whatever was going on, Kurt thought maybe they should actually listen to Jesse. He knew Rachel—maybe even better than the rest of them did. She wasn't their friend, after all. Or was she? Though nothing had ever really been said out loud, did her willingness to stand up for him count as a declaration of friendship? Kurt didn't know. Certainly he'd never dream of doing the same for her. Not previously, anyway. The thought wouldn't have even occurred to him. If he had witnessed Karofsky and Azimio harassing _her_ in the parking lot, he wouldn't have stepped in. He'd have alerted a teacher, but he wouldn't have put himself on the line. Not like she'd done for him. He was pretty sure she knew it, too—had known it even before she made the choice to step up and defend him. She'd _known_ there was no element of reciprocity to her gesture, and yet she'd done it anyway. Because—actually, he didn't really know why. It made no sense, after all.

Now that he was free to move, Karofsky and Azimio secured in the back seats of two cop cars, Mr. Schuester slowly approached the couple and crouched near them. He touched Kurt's shoulder comfortingly, then turned to Jesse. "Did you see it?" he asked.

"Oh, I fucking saw it, all right." Jesse tugged a hand through his hair before returning it to Rachel's back. "I just wasn't fast enough to stop it."

"No one's blaming you. Those two bullies are at fault, not you." Their choir director shifted a little closer. "I see there's blood on the concrete," he said. "I won't touch her, but will you pull her hair up so I can see where she hit?"

Jesse seemed to respond well to Schue's soothing words and his promise not to touch. Instead of snapping at the choir director, he gathered Rachel's long hair carefully in his hands and drew it up, away from the back of her head. Kurt peered, but he couldn't see anything except the roots of her hair. There was no scalp visible, injured or otherwise.

"I don't see anything," Schue said after a moment. The sirens were louder now, and Kurt saw the flash of an ambulance's lights in the distance. "At least she's not actively bleeding. That's something, anyway." He made to stand, and as he levered himself up from his knees his arm brushed Rachel's shoulder. He froze instantly, but Rachel didn't protest. There was no whimper, no violent shift away from the light touch. Jesse and Mr. Schue frowned at each other, and the choir director slowly put his hand out and deliberately touched Rachel's arm.

Again, nothing.

"I don't understand," Schue said, but he let go again and stood as the ambulance pulled swiftly into the lot and parked near the crowd.

"We got a call about head trauma and a possible concussion?" the first EMT asked, hopping out of the cab. "Is the victim conscious?"

"Semi, I think," Mr. Schue said, still frowning slightly as he watched Rachel shift in Jesse's arms.

"You moved her," the second EMT accused as he opened the back door of the ambulance. "You shouldn't ever move someone with possible head or neck injuries."

"I wasn't going to just let her lie on the concrete until you got here!" Jesse snapped, and he gathered her more firmly in his arms before standing. Kurt didn't want to even think about the requisite core muscles to do something like that.

The first EMT reached forward to try to place a brace around Rachel's neck, but she protested the stranger's touch just as much as she had Finn's and Miss Pillsbury's. He pulled back, looking slightly bemused as she buried her head further into the crook of Jesse's shoulder and gripped him tightly. "Miss," he said. "Miss, it's okay. I'm trained to help you."

"That won't do any good." Jesse's voice was brusque and cold. "Just bring the gurney so I can put her down."

"But she shouldn't—"

"Just do it," he snapped, his voice rising again. "And I'm riding with her."

"Uh..." The first man looked at his partner, who was waiting by the back of the ambulance. "That's not really possible, kid. You have to be over eighteen to ride with a patient, and—"

"I _am_ eighteen!" His whole body was tense, and Kurt didn't know what might happen if Jesse wasn't holding his girlfriend. Without her body keeping him from lunging, there might be a problem. "I told her dad I'd stay with her. You can't stop me."

The two EMTs exchanged skeptical looks as they pulled the gurney from the ambulance and wheeled it over. Jesse stepped close and attempted to lower Rachel's still form to the padded surface, but she clung to him and would not let him go.

"It's okay," Jesse murmured, and the change in his voice once again startled Kurt. It was so soft, so unbelievably tender. It was like...almost like it was coming from an entirely different person. "Don't worry, baby," he crooned. "I'm staying with you, and your dads will meet us there. Just let the professionals do their job, okay?"

The words did not seem to have an immediate effect, but he continued to whisper reassurances to her, kissing her hair and temple softly until she released her desperate hold on his neck and let him lower her carefully to the gurney.

"Good girl," he said, smiling as he brushed her hair out of her face. "That's right. Just relax, and it will be okay."

Her face contorted in a tight grimace of pain, and Kurt felt a wave of deep sympathy as he saw it. No matter what Jesse said, he was at least partially to blame. Rachel had done this for him, and he didn't even know why.

The second EMT moved in with the neck brace this time, and Kurt was just about ready to yell that this was _not_ a good idea when Rachel shifted and turned, almost tumbling off the side of the gurney as she tried to get away from the insistent hands. Kurt's stomach rolled when her head moved and he saw a red splotch on the gurney. Her arms reached out clumsily, and there was little question of what she wanted.

Jesse hadn't moved away, and he shoved the emergency worker back even as he stopped Rachel from falling in her desperate attempt to get away from the touch she did not want. He used his upper body and forearms almost as a shield, covering her carefully, though he did not attempt to pick her up again.

"She's confused right now," Mr. Schue said apologetically, stepping in. "Let me try? She didn't mind when I touched her before."

The EMT looked skeptical, but he handed the neck brace over.

Rachel and Jesse seemed like they would take more convincing than the medical workers, though. Her arms were around him, knuckles white as she held him tightly to her, and—

Holy hell, she was _crying_.

Kurt had heard her cry before—on stage, or when she threw tantrums in glee club. But this was different. He had no doubt that she felt things strongly while she was singing and whatever, but there was something raw and aching about the sounds coming out of her mouth now. He wasn't at all a fan of public displays of affection, but he was about ready to demand that the EMT's just let her wear Jesse like a suit of armor. Anything to stop those heartbreaking sounds. Maybe Jesse was right. Maybe staying away from McKinley, even just for a while, was the best thing for her. She probably never wanted to see another swatch of Titan red ever again, and—

Titan red.

Kurt's eyes flashed to the two bullies shooting dirty looks from the back of the cop cars. Yes, they were wearing their red letterman jackets, as was Finn. Miss Pillsbury's sweater was bright red, as were the jackets on the EMT's, edged with reflective safety tape. But Jesse—Jesse was in his signature black, and Mr. Schue's knit cardigan was pale grey.

That had to be the answer. Confused and not really conscious, Rachel must have been shying away from flashes of bright red—the same color her attackers were wearing.

Moving forward on shaky legs, Kurt cleared his throat. "Take your jacket off," he told the second EMT.

The man raised an eyebrow, obviously exasperated by this frustrating and bizarre call. A semi-conscious girl who didn't seem to want help, an overprotective boyfriend, and now Kurt. "We have emergency blankets if you're cold, or you might be going into shock," the man said, not making a move to remove his jacket. "Were you hurt, too? Do you need to sit down?"

"It's the color," Kurt said, grabbing the end of the gurney for a little added support as he reached it. Hoping he was right, he carefully checked his outfit. Slate and cucumber—no red anywhere. "Watch." He touched Rachel's arm, which she currently had wrapped around Jesse, and to his relief she did not object. "Those idiots were wearing their red letterman jackets. She's confused, and the color red is scaring her. Just take off your jacket and hopefully she'll let you do your job."

The EMT's exchanged dubious glances, but the one nearer to Kurt shed his jacket slowly and dropped it on the ground. "Miss," he said carefully. "Miss, we're going to try to place your neck brace now."

This time she did not protest, though she didn't let go of Jesse either. Kurt swallowed hard, watching as they secured the unwieldy device around her neck, Jesse helping to hold her hair out of the way and then settling her back against the gurney.

"I'm going with you," he promised, when she still showed no signs of releasing him. "I promise, baby, I'll be right beside you and your dads will meet us there. But you have to let go for just a minute so we can get you in the ambulance."

She wasn't crying anymore—much, anyway—but it still took several minutes of Jesse's soothing words for her to loosen her hold and allow him to straighten. She kept a tight grip on his hand, though, and the EMTs muttered a little as they had to maneuver the gurney back into the ambulance with Jesse in the way. Neither of them gave him any more grief about riding along.

"Kurt," Jesse called as they were securing the gurney in place. Kurt raised his head in time to see something arc through the air toward him.

Keys.

"I heard you dad took your car away from you a while ago. Do me a favor and bring me my Rover at the hospital, and I'll make sure you get home, okay?"

Holy hell, he was holding the keys to a _Vocal Adrenaline_ Range Rover. Kurt swallowed hard. He wouldn't do anything to the car, he promised himself. He hadn't inherited his dad's passion for fixing automobiles, but he knew a good piece of engineering when he saw one and he couldn't bring himself to even think about damaging it, no matter how Jesse had acquired the thing.

"I'm going with you," Finn said, yanking off his letterman jacket and wadding it up under his arm. The ambulance was already pulling away, lights flashing but no siren. "Where's the dude's car?"

Kurt hesitated. Would Finn know a Vocal Adrenaline Range Rover when he saw one? It didn't look different than any other Rover, but what if Jesse had a bumper sticker or license plate frame that gave everything away? Now wasn't exactly the best time for all these truths to come to the fore.

"We can all go," Mr. Schue said, putting a hand on Finn's shoulder. "But you have to understand that we might be sitting in the waiting room for a long time without any information. We're not family, and her dads are probably going to be in with her." He paused, as if knowing his next words weren't going to please Finn. "Jesse, too."

The tall boy grimaced and pulled away from the comforting hand. "I should be with her," he said. "I know her ten times better than any punk kid from another school."

"Actually—" Kurt started hesitantly.

"And you!" Finn turned on him. "You knew about him and you didn't say anything?"

"They told me not to!" Kurt protested. "They _knew_ you would all make a huge deal out of this, and so when I found out they told me to keep it to myself!" He exhaled swiftly, feeling his legs quiver again. Clearly the shock of the altercation wasn't entirely gone. "Look, I don't know Jesse well, okay? But anyone can see that he cares about her. Can't you let her have this without making her feel bad about it?" So maybe Rachel _hadn't_ been his friend before, but something told him that she was now. If she was going to stick up for him like that, particularly when she didn't have to, he was going to return the favor.

"She lied to us!" Finn snapped.

"She didn't," Kurt said, "except by omission, and that's not all that much like a lie, really. It's...strategic. Besides, you've got Quinn. Why can't she have Jesse?"

"Nobody likes Rachel!" Finn exploded, throwing up his hands. "Okay? So I don't know what sort of game this dude's playing, but he's _got_ to be playing one. She's too—what's the word? Like that Jack Black movie."

"Gullible," Kurt said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Not Gulliver. Look, I'm sorry, but you can't just make that call."

"Kurt's right." Mr. Schue patted their football player on the shoulder. "I know you want to be a good leader of this team and everything, but if Rachel wants to date a boy from another school, that's really none of our business."

"And when he plays whatever trick he wants to play, or dumps her or whatever? Then what?" Finn wasn't backing down, and even though the tall football player was in the wrong, Kurt couldn't help but find his insistence wildly compelling. "What if it happens right before a competition? What then? _Then_ is it our problem? When our star performer is all torn apart? For all we know, he could be planning something just like that." Finn rounded on Kurt. "What school does he go to, anyway?"

Kurt kept his mouth shut. There was no way he was answering that question. "Rachel is more professional than that," he said instead.

"I agree," Schue said.

"I don't _care_ what Curly-Top is planning," Quinn grumbled, "just as long as it keeps that _thing_ from panting after Finn."

"Dude was way too hot for the midget to deserve him," Santana added.

"Guys!" Mr. Schue reprimanded, and everyone fell silent. "One of our own was seriously hurt today. Now, I know Rachel might not be your favorite person, but she's part of this team and she got hurt sticking up for Kurt. She deserves our support right now."

Finn stopped his protests, but Quinn and Santana glanced at each other and Kurt knew they weren't swayed by their choir director's words. Of them all, Quinn and Santana seemed to dislike Rachel the most, and he didn't think that was ever going to fade.

"Anyone who wants to go to the hospital can join Kurt and I," Mr. Schue continued. "I'll give you a ride if necessary."

"I want to know what her boy drives," Santana said, grabbing for the keys in Kurt's hand. He snatched them away, stumbling a little.

"Leave Kurt alone," Schue said, but everyone seemed interested, and Santana's eyebrow rose when Kurt pointed down the mostly-empty aisle to the black Range Rover parked near the end of the row.

"Hot _and_ nice car?" she said. "He's definitely playing her."

"He isn't," Kurt insisted. "How can you see them together and think that?"

As he verbally defended the girl who had physically defended him, Kurt's mind again showed him the picture of Jesse holding Rachel firmly in his arms, his furious face and barely-controlled voice as he called her dad to inform him that Rachel had been hurt. The emotion on his face was so raw, so intense, that he couldn't discount it. Yeah, if he'd just been told by someone that Rachel Berry had a hot new boyfriend without witnessing them together, he probably would have thought the same thing. But one look at Jesse's face while he was with Rachel and there was no more question of the other boy's devotion. Jesse was probably a very good actor, but this wasn't the kind of emotion that could be faked.

And if New Directions reacted this badly to the introduction of Jesse just as a kid from another school, Rachel had been right to hide him. There was no _way_ Kurt was going to divulge the rest of the secret. Not now.

* * *

><p>In the end, only Finn, Mr. Schue, Tina, and—surprisingly—Puck accompanied Kurt to Lima's small medical center. Kurt tried to gain solace from the fact that they hadn't rushed her to the big hospital the next town over; if they were taking care of her here, surely that meant she wasn't too badly hurt?<p>

Of course, there were other benefits to Rachel having been brought to the smaller medical center. The receptionist on duty was a friend of Mr. Schue and waved them on back without demanding to know who they were visiting or why.

Kurt followed close on the heels of his teacher, anxiously counting doors. Rachel was in an observation room with a giant window set in the wall, and her door was open. The McKinley group paused, looking through the window, as Schue waved for them to wait and not enter the room.

Jesse was with her, but her fathers had not arrived yet. He sat in a chair on the far side of the bed, holding her hand and looking anything but pleased. Kurt knew that under normal circumstances it would be impossible to miss the crowd of people just outside the giant window, but Jesse's whole attention was so focused on Rachel's still form that Kurt honestly couldn't say whether he was ignoring them or really didn't notice.

The sound of loud, swift male footsteps sounded along the hallway, and in another instant Kurt saw Rachel's taller father, Leroy, appear. "Jesse!" the man snapped. "Jesse, what happened?"

He barged into the room, one hand instantly reaching for his daughter's head, stroking along the soft hair.

"Bullies," Jesse spat. "Fucking animals, hitting a girl like that."

"Daddy?" Her voice was soft and sleepy.

"Right here, angel."

It was strange, Kurt thought, to hear the soft, protective sound of Leroy Berry's voice when he spoke to his injured daughter. Rachel was known at school as a wholly self-sufficient, brazen, obnoxious loudmouth. To see her with her father was a little unnerving—to realize that she had a family that loved her, people to whom she really meant something. Kurt had never before given the matter much thought, but it rattled him to note that everyone he knew at school had this: a family. That, just like he did, they all had an entire other life that went on outside of school hours. Rachel wasn't just a bigmouth in funny clothes to this man—she was his _daughter_. He had raised her and protected her, and the fact that she was now here in the hospital due to another man's child must be hard to bear.

"Daddy?" Rachel said again, wincing as she blinked and it looked like she tried to focus on her father's face.

"I'm right here, sweetheart," he reassured her again. "Jesse, too, and Daddy H is on his way." Leroy bent his tall frame and kissed her head carefully. "I want to talk to Jesse in the hall for just a moment, Rachel. We'll be right outside the door."

She didn't protest, which Kurt thought was perhaps a little strange considering the fact that she hadn't been at all willing to let Jesse go in the parking lot. But her eyes were closed now, the neck brace gone, and she seemed to be resting comfortably. Her dark lashes fluttered softly and she turned her head, wincing a little as she put pressure on the hurt part.

"Thank you for being there and taking care of her," Leroy said, clapping Jesse's shoulder as they exited the room. "Are you all right, son?"

Finn blanched. He knew he probably shouldn't, but it didn't seem _fair_. He'd never received a "son" from Rachel's more intimidating father—from either of them, in fact. And this kid could just waltz in and get one as if it were the most natural thing in the world?

"Just pissed," Jesse bit out. "At them and myself. I saw it happen. I should have been quicker."

"I'm sure you did the best you could," Leroy said, and there was genuine warmth in his voice. "Rachel thinks you hung the moon, and I trust you wouldn't do anything to betray that."

"Never," Jesse affirmed. "She's perfect, and I hate that she has to deal with all this shit. Leroy, today was the worst it's been so far, but it isn't the first and it won't be the last. This isn't a good place for her. I know she wants to tough it out because she sees it as failure if she doesn't, but this senseless bullying is only going to get worse. Today she stepped in to protect a friend, but it could just as easily have been initially directed at her."

Leroy shook his head slowly and expelled a long breath. "You know I agree with you, and I have for a while. It's Hiram and Rachel we have to convince. He doesn't want to dictate something she so clearly doesn't want to do."

"I don't want to upset her, either, but how long are you going to let this go on? I can't just sit back and watch this anymore. I'm sorry, but I _can't_. Do you know how many times she's been in tears, or close to it, when I pick her up from school? She doesn't like to worry you, but I think you need to know."

And for the first time, Kurt had to really think about things from someone else's point of view. He'd never before considered what Jesse was saying, or Leroy's concern. Rachel was just always so...so _Rachel_. She annoyed everyone. She pushed her ideas, and demanded solos, and stormed out of rehearsals when she didn't get her way. She always had a list of everyone else's imperfections, and it made it so difficult to be nice to her.

But she never showed anything other than irritation, as far as he knew. This weakness—a sort of emotional fragility—that Jesse spoke of wasn't something Kurt would have ever suspected Rachel possessed. She was always so brash and loud, never showing an ounce of weakness.

_Because no one will let her_, a small voice whispered inside his head. Kurt wanted to ignore it, but he was afraid that little voice was right. Rachel wasn't permitted to show weakness. If she did, the rest of the group would eat her alive. She was only what they let her be, and anything else was pushed to the back, repressed, and hidden away. It looked like maybe she felt safe enough around Jesse to show him parts of herself she didn't show anyone else, but Kurt couldn't say for sure what all that might be. Slowly he was beginning to admit that he, like everyone else, had acted pretty poorly when it came to Rachel. Everyone in the group was fairly catty towards each other, _including_ Rachel, but she bore the brunt of it. Whether her behavior justified that or not, he really couldn't say. But he was mature enough to admit noticing that she rarely, if ever, retaliated. She was irritating, but not cruel.

And taken together, all of that knowledge wasn't making Kurt feel very good at all.

"What do you want to do about it?" Leroy asked, rubbing his thin hair in frustration. "How can we possibly help her when she won't _let_ us?"

"She's got it in her head that she always needs to be strong," Jesse said bitterly. "That it's a sign of failure if she chooses not to put up with it anymore. That's the real problem we need to address."

"Then we will." Leroy sounded firm and decisive. He was a dad much like Kurt's own—unable and unwilling to let bullying continue if there was a way to stop it. Yes, Kurt knew that tone of voice very well. He wondered if Rachel would be able to stand up against it.

Or even if she _should_. For the group—for their chances at winning—Kurt didn't want to see her go. But if she was feeling so bad about her treatment at McKinley that she went home crying that often, maybe it _was_ time for a change.

"The question is, of course," Leroy said, glancing at Jesse, "where to send her instead. It will be a battle to get her into another public school; we'll have to provide proof that the bullying is interfering with her quality of life, and Rachel may well fight us on that. We can afford a private school, but most of those are Christian and neither Rachel nor Hiram will go for that."

"I'm selfish enough to want her at Carmel with me," Jesse said, "though I know I won't be there that much longer. But you know as well as I do that there are...complications...with that idea."

Leroy eyed Jesse with a look Kurt couldn't place. It might have been heightened respect. "So you know, do you?"

"You can't look at them and not," Jesse said quietly.

"Dude," Finn whispered in Kurt's ear, furious. "You didn't tell me he was from Carmel!"

"Because I knew you'd take it badly!" Kurt hissed back. "It doesn't matter where he's from! Just shut up so I can hear them!"

"What are they talking about?" Finn demanded, ignoring Kurt's directive. "What does Jesse know?"

"I don't know!" Kurt shoved his shoulder into the taller boy's arm, attempting to silence him. Jesse and Leroy were so wrapped up in what they were discussing that they hadn't seemed to notice the group from McKinley clustered nearby.

"Out of all the local public schools, Carmel really might be the best place for her," Leroy said slowly. "It would take some doing. I'll have to talk to Hiram first, and then Shelby if he's amenable. Rachel doesn't know anything, and this is going to be a huge deal. But I'll do anything to keep her safe and happy, son. Anything."

"What the _hell_ is going on?" Finn's whisper in Kurt's ear was harsh. "Who is Shelby?"

"Carmel's show choir coach, Shelby Corcoran," Kurt hissed back. "Don't you know _anything_ about our competition? Shut up!"

The sudden sound of rapid footsteps jerked his attention away from the football player, and a moment later Rachel's biological father came striding down the hall. He skidded to a stop in front of Rachel's door, catching Jesse by the arm.

"Jesse, son, are you okay?" he asked seriously, face intent.

"Yes," Jesse said, barely-controlled impatience in his voice, "I'm _fine_. Just furious. I ran, but I wasn't quick enough. Didn't get to her in time."

"Dude, _two_ 'sons'?" Finn muttered. "What do they think he is, the second coming of Jesus?"

"Since the family's Jewish, I'd guess not," Kurt remarked dryly.

Finn stared at him blankly, and Kurt didn't entirely know what that meant—did Finn really not understand?

Hiram had disappeared into Rachel's room during the quick exchange, and he bent to kiss Rachel's forehead softly, finding her hand and squeezing it.

"Daddy," she said sleepily, her eyes opening heavily, "where's Jesse?"

"Right outside," Hiram promised, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. "How do you feel?"

"My head hurts."

"That's understandable." He smiled encouragingly. "Do you remember what happened, honey?"

"Sort of." She grimaced. "They were being mean to Kurt. You know that's not fair. It's like being mean to Bambi."

Puck's snort of amusement made Kurt roll his eyes. "Looks like you've got a fan," the mohawked boy said with a grin.

"Hush," Kurt said, though he suspected he might get tossed into a dumpster because of it. "I want to hear what they have to say."

"Rachel, I can't scold you for sticking up for a friend, but you know you could have been seriously hurt, right? You're lucky the scan came out fine and you only have some minor confusion and disorientation to contend with. I talked to the doctor, honey. She says you're extremely lucky you didn't hit that bumper any harder, or on a softer part of your skull."

"You always said I had a thick skull," Rachel replied with a little giggle.

Hiram rolled his eyes. "What kind of pain meds did they give you, anyway?"

"Mmm..." She stretched slightly and shifted in the bed, settling a different part of her head against the pillow. "I don't know. I'm sleepy, daddy."

"You can sleep; the doctor said it was fine. Just try not to worry us anymore, okay? You know I'm all for women's lib and letting you do anything you're capable of, but...let Jesse do the fighting when it's necessary, please? We like him, but it's so much easier rushing to see someone _else's_ kid in the hospital."

"No promises," Rachel said, "but I'll try."

"Daddy L is making that face that means he wants to talk to me," Hiram said, glancing at the door. "I'll send Jesse in to you, okay?"

"Yes, please."

Hiram's eyes drifted to the group from McKinley as he exited Rachel's room and waved Jesse to take his place. He attempted to smile, stepping closer and offering his hand to Mr. Schuester. "Thank you," he said, and the heartfelt emotion in his voice almost overwhelmed Kurt. "Thank you for helping my daughter."

"You really have Jesse to thank more than anyone," Mr. Schue said, clasping the other man's hand warmly. "And Kurt, who figured out how to help her when she pushed the EMT's away."

"Did she?" Hiram shook his head. "My crazy girl. Sometimes even I don't know what she'll do next." He smiled. "Glad to hear you weren't an instigator this time, Noah."

"I wouldn't hit a girl, Mr. B.," Puck said, and his trademark carefree attitude was gone as he spoke seriously to Rachel's father. "Those goons who did are cruising for a bruising."

"It's nice to hear you say that," Hiram said, "and I'll pass along to your mother that we're proud of you, the next time we see her. But I'd prefer if you didn't fight this out anymore. From what I heard, the boys who started this are in some serious trouble, not just with the school but with the law. Let's let that be the end of it, shall we?"

Puck nodded slowly, though he did not look best pleased.

"If you want to see her, it might be best to do it now," Leroy added, stepping up behind his partner. "They gave her some heavy-duty pain meds, and I'm not sure how much longer she'll be awake."

The group dutifully filed past both of Rachel's dads, but Hiram put his hand out and stopped Kurt gently. "Son, can we talk to you for a moment?"

Oh, god, were they going to tell him that they blamed him for Rachel's injury? That he should have stepped in and prevented it, or should have known better than to get cornered like that in the first place? He swallowed hard, feeling the blood drain from his face, but a gentle chuckle from Leroy met his ears instead of a reprimand.

"Take it easy," Rachel's taller father said. "It's okay. You're not in any trouble."

"I just wanted to make sure that you were all right," Hiram said. He kept a hand on Kurt's shoulder and looked carefully into his eyes. "Really, truly all right."

"They didn't hurt me," Kurt breathed. The attention from Rachel's dads was frankly a little unnerving. He'd met them before, certainly, when he was in and out of the house borrowing books or music from Rachel's enviable collection, but they'd never really seriously talked before. He could admit to himself that, while he loved his own father desperately, he couldn't help but feel a little jealous of Rachel and her dads. There were very, very few out gay people in the Lima area, and the Berry men were virtually the only ones Kurt had met. They always seemed so...so comfortable with themselves and each other, as if they didn't see anything at all odd about their circumstances—raising a daughter together, in a small town in a conservative state, despite all the whispers from their neighbors. While Kurt felt more or less secure in who he was, he still yearned for that sort of ease.

"Maybe not physically, but you know as well as we do that there are ways and ways to hurt people," Hiram said now, and the way he scrutinized Kurt was...not unnerving exactly but...Kurt didn't know how to explain it. Attention from a gay man, from someone who instinctively _knew_ his secret and _knew_ what it was like to live with that, day in and day out...it was...heady. Exciting.

"Son, we're not stupid. We know Rachel's not the easiest person to get along with," Leroy said, motioning them down into a set of chairs along the wall. "That's partially our fault, I suppose—she's a spoiled only child, and she's always had us wrapped around her fingers. We know that. Frankly, the fact that she found Jesse, especially in small-town Ohio, shocked us, though we're happy for them both. We didn't expect her to find a guy who could keep up with her until she'd run off to New York—not that we're complaining. He's everything we could have wanted for her, and yes, he's cocky and obnoxious as hell, but really, what were we expecting a girl like Rachel to bring home? Finn?" He chuckled. "What I'm trying to say is, we know she has her faults. But she's always been passionately loyal once she latches onto something, and whether you know it or not, you're on that list."

"She's been worried about you for a while now," Hiram added. "I realize all of you glee kids get bullied, but she says you bear the brunt of it because you refuse to try to fit in."

"If you ever need someone to talk to, or a shoulder to cry on, or even just somewhere to hide for a while, our house is always open to you, son," Leroy said, touching Kurt's shoulder softly. "Being a teenager is hard, and being a gay teenager is damn near impossible in a place like this. If there's anything we can do to lighten the load, even just a little, please let us know."

"Rachel considers you worth defending, and that's good enough in our eyes." Hiram smiled. "Now—is there anything you need? Anything at all?"

Kurt shook his head slowly. He couldn't believe it—literally almost could not believe what was happening. Rachel's dads were offering him the one thing he craved above all others. Okay, maybe not. What he really wanted was a boyfriend, but mentors were a close second. These two had been through it all before him, and they understood in a way no one else in his life possibly could. "How did you do it?" he breathed, looking at the two men with big, wide eyes. "Does it ever get easier?"

"Yes," Hiram said with a smile, "and no. Just like with anything, it happens day by day. Sometimes it's hard, like explaining to Rachel's teachers year after year when she was in elementary school. Sometimes it's simple, like when she gives us each a hug every night when we come home. It's never easy to be different, and unlike being an ethnic minority, this isn't something you have in common with your family, so in that sense it can feel very isolating. But there's a reason we celebrate gay _pride_, Kurt. Because it's important to understand that there's no shame in being what you are, just the way you were meant to be."

"I know," Kurt whispered, blinking back tears. "But it's hard sometimes."

"That's what we're here for." Leroy squeezed his shoulder. "That's exactly what we're here for."

Kurt suppressed a sniffle and offered them a watery smile as Mr. Schuester stepped out of Rachel's hospital room. He stood, letting the adults talk in low voices as he joined the rest of the kids in Rachel's room.

Jesse had slid onto the bed beside Rachel, and she was currently curled into his side, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder as Finn glowered at both of them. Tina had left the balloon bouquet they'd picked up in the hospital's gift shop, and Jesse and Puck were trading cautiously respectful glances over the top of Rachel's sleepy head.

"Hey," Kurt said, pulling a chair up close to the bed, "are you awake?"

"Kinda." She smiled sleepily at him, and he could tell from her wide pupils, the brown of her irises almost swallowed by the dilated black, that she was on some _good_ drugs. "You okay?"

"Your dads asked me that, too," he said, taking the hand she reached toward him. It was warm, and he squeezed gently. "I ought to be asking you, instead."

"I'm okay." She yawned widely, nestling further into Jesse's embrace. "They did a CT scan and asked me all these questions to make sure nothing was wrong with my brain."

Kurt smiled. Hopped up on pain meds, the fierce Rachel Berry was docile as a kitten and it was actually quite amusing. "There must be something wrong with your brain for you to jump in the middle of a fight like that."

Rachel snorted. "Please. That wasn't a fight. It was about to be a massacre, and I couldn't just sit there and watch. By the time I ran to get Mr. Schue, who knows what would have happened to you?"

"Nothing would have happened," Jesse put in, his arm tightening around her, "because I would have been there in another second."

"Well, I didn't know that," Rachel said with a light shrug, "and I stand by what I did."

Kurt squeezed her hand again. "Thank you, Rachel," he said quietly. They seemed like such insignificant words compared with what she'd done, but he didn't know what else he could possibly say.

"Hey." Her heavy eyes found his. "You'd have done the same for me."

But even as her mouth said the words, Kurt could see by the wistful curve of her mouth and the soft glimmer in her big brown eyes that she knew better. She knew that he wouldn't have stepped in the way she had.

"I have no doubt," Kurt said carefully, trying to pick just the right words to convey what he meant, "that you have no need of rescuing. But if the circumstance ever arises—I'm there."

Rachel's hand tightened on his, and he saw her smile grow into something real. Yes, she understood what he was saying. Maybe he hadn't considered them friends before today, but that was then and this was now. How he could repay something done so selflessly, Kurt didn't know, but he aimed to try.

"Not like nancy-boy here would be much help in a jam," Puck muttered, earning a glare from Kurt. "I still say those two are going _down_ when they get back to school."

"They probably won't be back," Jesse said, stroking Rachel's dark hair carefully, keeping well away from the hurt spot. "This was a serious assault, and they're old enough that the consequences won't be just a slap on the wrist. You might see them next school year if the district lets them back in, but I doubt it."

"You sure seem to know a lot about the justice system," Finn said stonily. "Been through it yourself, huh?"

Jesse raised dryly amused eyes toward the taller boy. "I don't owe you any explanations."

"Like hell you don't!" Finn said angrily. "You think you can just bust in here, in the middle of our school and our club, like you own the place? Go back to Carmel where you belong!"

"Gladly," Jesse said flatly. "But I'm warning you, I'm taking Rachel with me."

Kurt flicked his eyes worriedly to the girl in question. While she'd probably be flattered at the thought of being fought over, she undoubtedly would not take kindly to the boys attempting to make these decisions for her. But when he looked at her, her eyes were firmly closed, her mouth open ever so slightly as she breathed deeply against Jesse's chest. Her hand in his was limp, and Kurt carefully rested it against the bed. As soon as he withdrew his grip, she shifted, slipping her arm around Jesse's waist and cuddling closer against him. Jesse shared a long glance with Kurt as he rubbed Rachel's shoulder softly, and Kurt knew in an instant that Jesse had already known Rachel was asleep before he opened his mouth. No doubt he wouldn't have dreamed of saying something like that while she was awake and could ream him out for it.

"This is Rachel's school!" Finn burst out. "This is where she belongs!"

"Being mocked and bullied every day?" Jesse shook his head. "You don't know what it's like because you never had to deal with it. I don't, either, but I see the results every day when I pick her up. Do you ever stop and think about what the constant bullying does to her, or Kurt, or anyone else who has to deal with it? Do you?" His lips thinned into a displeased line. "She doesn't deserve that. She deserves to be at a school where she can be taken seriously."

"So maybe Karofsky and Azimio got a little out of hand," Finn said, "but it's not like that all the time! Besides, hazing helps kids understand our place in the system. It's normal."

"Normal," Jesse scoffed. He kissed Rachel's head carefully, his lips lingering against her sleek hair, which made Finn glare. "Ask him," Jesse said abruptly, nodding toward Kurt. "Ask him if he agrees with you, high-and-mighty quarterback."

Finn stared at Kurt as if at a loss, but Kurt knew exactly what Jesse was talking about and he aimed to tell the tall boy just that. "It hurts," he admitted. "And maybe to you it's only a careless word here or a slushie there, but to us it's constant. You and Puckerman stopped when you joined the glee club, but that doesn't mean anyone else did. Do you know how hard it is to concentrate, to get through a day, when you're constantly afraid of being shut inside a locker or having pee-balloons thrown at you on the way home?"

Finn opened his mouth, but there was really nothing to say. He _didn't_ know what it was like. And yeah, he'd been slushied a time or two since joining the club, but for him it wasn't a persistent, daily problem like it was for Kurt, Rachel, and the rest of the losers in the club—the ones who were neither football players nor cheerleaders. He had no idea. Absolutely no idea.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Kurt said, staring at the tall jock he was still unquestionably attracted to despite _knowing_ how unsuitable the boy was as an object of affection. "You've come a long way. But you've still got a ways to go."

"And you're saying Carmel is any better?" Finn said finally, folding his arms across his chest. "High school is high school! It's the same everywhere."

"I won't say there isn't bullying at Carmel," Jesse said. "But Vocal Adrenaline is on the top of the food chain, and nobody messes with us. Rachel would be far better off at a school that appreciates and nurtures her talent instead of trying to squelch it."

"This is what you wanted all along! You don't care about her—you just want to steal her away for your team!"

The fire that flashed in Jesse's eyes was sudden and hot, and Kurt was startled. The boy was usually cooler than ice, and nothing seemed to faze him. But the accusation that he was only using Rachel must have rattled something deep inside, and he tightened his arms around her sleeping form, nuzzling her head gently. "If I wasn't holding her right now," he said tightly, "there'd be another fight, and I guarantee you wouldn't be walking away afterward."

"Easy, guys," Mr. Schue said, quickly stepping in, Leroy behind him. He took Finn's shoulder as Leroy stood next to Jesse, both attempting to diffuse the situation. "Finn, I told you not to push Jesse."

"He only wants her to join Vocal Adrenaline!" Finn accused. "He doesn't really care!"

"Finn, you don't know that," Mr. Schue said gently. "Come on, now, I think we should head home and let Rachel rest."

"I'm going to marry her someday," Jesse said, and his voice was firm and strong. Kurt didn't know if it was possible to disbelieve anything said in that voice. "Keep your cranky cheerleader, if you can. I've got something infinitely better."

"It's okay, Jesse," Leroy said quietly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's okay. We know how you feel."

"She's perfect," Jesse said firmly, "and someday the rest of the world is going to wake up and realize it. Until then, I'm going to do whatever I can to keep her safe."

"We know," Leroy repeated. "We understand."

Mr. Schue agreed to take Tina and Finn home, and Hiram offered a ride to Puck and Kurt while Leroy went to get some of Rachel's things from their house. The hospital wanted to keep her for observation overnight, but they said if she was doing well in the morning, she could go home.

"I'm not plotting anything," Jesse said stubbornly after the McKinley group had left, and he looked up at Rachel's father standing next to the bed. "I want her to be safe and happy, that's all."

"I know, son," Leroy said. "I know."

"So what do we do?"

"We convince our significant others that a change of school really is in Rachel's best interest." Leroy cracked a wan smile. "Easier said than done, I know."

Jesse glanced down at the sleeping girl in his arms. Easier said than done, yes. But the struggle would be worth it, once she came around. She'd be gaining so much, and losing very little that actually mattered. If Kurt or any of the others truly wanted to be her friend, there was nothing stopping that even if she transferred.

"I didn't run fast enough," he murmured softly as Leroy left the room and he was finally alone with Rachel. "But I promise, sweetheart, I'll never be so far away again."

* * *

><p><em>AN: So, that was the Season 1 version of **Run, Jesse, Run**, and the Season 2 version will be out sometime soon. What follows, as promised, is a little teaser for something that will be coming later in my joint project with androgenius, **See if I Can Sleep**._

* * *

><p>She reaches down to the floor and clicks the switch on a black electrical cord. A bare lightbulb inside the cabinet flickers on.<p>

Inside, there are six rows of little porcelain dolls. Jesse studies one of the rows, his brow furrowed with intense concentration. Rachel looks, too. She can see these little figurines, down to every detail, even with her eyes closed because she has looked at them so much. There is a row for each of Shelby's girls, even though each row is almost identical. The first is a baby with a pink blanket and the number zero. From there, the breakable figurines get older, one for each year of life. Shelby gives them each a new figurine every year, all on the same day, because she says she can't be bothered with birthdays year-round. Quinn and Mercedes and Santana have fifteen each. Rachel and Tina and Brittany have fourteen. She thinks they are beautiful, though she can admit that the dolls—all identical, except Brittany and Quinn's have gold hair and the rest have brown—don't really look like any of them. But she loves them anyway. They wear beautiful dresses, their hair immaculate and unmoving, and they have lovely peaceful expressions on their faces.

"Which are yours?" Jesse asks gently. There's something in his voice she can't quite place. It isn't pity, which she's heard the other girls toss at each other. It's similar, though. Enough that she wonders whether there's another emotion, something close to pity but without the discomfort. Something borne of kindness, with no hard edges.

She points to the bottom row—bottom because she's shortest—and Jesse kneels beside her to study her row more carefully. They're the same as the others, but she feels a little shiver of happiness that he's taking an interest in hers specifically.

"When you were little," he says, smiling at the little dolls, "did you used to take them out to play with?"

Rachel's eyes widen, and she shakes her head vehemently. She points at the keyhole on the door.

"Locked? But I thought you said they were yours."

"They are," Rachel said, her brow drawing up in a puzzled frown. "Shelby gives them to us every year."

"But you're not allowed to touch them? That doesn't sound like much of a gift."

Rachel doesn't answer, and Jesse turns to peer at the figurines again. "Are you sure you guys never took them out to play with? Look here." He points. "This one's chipped. And the arm's broken off of your Number Ten."

Rachel flinches. She doesn't like to talk about this.

"In fact," he says, looking at the other girls' rows, "most of these are broken or chipped somehow. And the top row—is that Quinn's?—she's missing Number Twelve altogether."

"That was the year she got out the door," Rachel whispers. Her hands are trembling as she fumbles for the electrical cord and the little switch, though she doesn't know why. She clicks the light off, and the corner of the room returns to shadow.

"Got out the door?" It's Jesse's turn to frown. "I don't understand."

"The side door downstairs. Someone made a delivery, and she was waiting and slipped out when they came in."

"The theater?" Jesse exhales loudly through his nose. "You mean she left the theater?"

"Shelby was so angry," Rachel whispers. "I've never seen her angrier. Not even when she found out Mercedes knew the combination to the lock on the kitchen door."

"What did she—wait, your _kitchen_ is locked up? Holy fucking shit, Rachel! Do you have control over any part of your lives?"

Rachel isn't sure whether this is a rhetorical question or not, so she keeps still.

"So she breaks them," he says quietly, staring at the shadowy figures in the dumpy china hutch. "She gives you this one thing that she says is yours, and she chips and breaks them if you don't behave." He's silent for a long time, and Rachel can't bring herself to disturb the quiet that settles over the room. She's supposed to be resting her twisted ankle—she has no idea what Jesse told Mr. Schuester about his own whereabouts—and she wonders what might happen if Shelby comes up to check on them.

"What did you do here?" Jesse asks finally, pointing to her little doll who's missing an arm below the elbow.

"I threw up on stage," she says very quietly. Her face flames; she doesn't like even remembering that night, let alone telling someone else.

"She punished you for being _sick_?" He sounds appalled.

"It's not like that," Rachel insists. "I was almost done with the scene, Jesse! It was almost over, but I just wasn't good enough. I didn't have enough dedication to finish what I started."

He turns his body toward her and leans down slightly, bringing their heads closer to the same level. At the same time, he reaches out and touches her chin lightly, raising it with his fingertips. She swallows hard. There's no way to avoid his eyes now, and she stares at the insistent blue. So beautiful. She wants a blanket just that color, warm and cool at the same time, that she can wrap herself up in. Just lovely. "Who," he asks, and though the words are a demand, his voice is softly fervent, "who thought it was a good idea for you to go on stage sick to begin with?"

"Shelby," Rachel whispers. Of course it was Shelby. Shelby makes all the decisions. What did he think—that their director would actually ask her what she wanted? Even if she had, Rachel would have chosen to go on stage. She knows the correct answer to questions like those, though Shelby rarely asks them.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Just a little snippet so you know we haven't abandoned it! Mwah! Loves you, duckies! (Yes, the next installment of my Asian F fix is in the works, too, no worries!)_


	20. Asian F Part 4

_A/N: Hi guys! So, just a few notes:_

_First, for my non-U.S. readers, the legal drinking age in the United States is 21. People under the age of 21 cannot buy or consume alcohol, and in most instances are not permitted in clubs/bars, so Rachel not knowing what to do in one is fairly accurate. Yes, fake I.D.'s abound, but she doesn't strike me as the type to use one, or even know how to obtain one._

_Second, I've mentioned before that I would love to write Jesse's parents as more complex characters, but in this particular story it's too fun just to make them big meanies. Maybe in another fic down the line we'll see something different from me. Just a warning: Mr. St. James says some pretty vile stuff in this chapter. I by no means condone any of it; he's just a jerk._

_Speaking of parents, is anyone else unsure about the casting of the Misters Berry? I have a feeling I'm always going to consider those pics in Rachel's locker the "real" Hiram and Leroy._

_Also, I have not yet seen the new episode ("Yes/No"), but boy have you told me in no uncertain terms how appalled you are! Don't lose hope in the St. Berry fandom, guys, just because stupid Ryan Murphy (et al) insists on giving us crap on our screens. We know better, don't we? ;-) To make you feel better, here's the CORRECT way to write a young proposal. (Ryan, be a dear and go make us a sandwich while we fix the mess you made.)_

* * *

><p><strong>Proving Grounds (Part 4)<strong>

Jesse froze. He knew that voice. It was a voice that haunted his dreams sometimes—a voice that had been a constant echoing, harping refrain for four very long years during his youth. He honestly had never expected to hear it again.

Turning his head, he found Shelby Corcoran standing, tall and proud, in the doorway of his dressing room.

She was dressed immaculately, as always—deep purple that set off the lovely dark undertones in her skin and teased bits of color from her hair. She wasn't a traditionally pretty woman, her mouth wide and crooked, and her face made sharp and keen by both time and circumstance. But she was strong and confident and powerful, and those things made her stand out amid any crowd, overpowering all the more conventional beauties. Her daughter had inherited much of that unusual beauty and brash confidence, though there was a softer core to her, too, that Jesse attributed to Hiram and Leroy's calm, loving influence. Rachel was everything Shelby might once have been, and more.

"Hello again, Mr. and Mrs. St. James," Rachel's mother said now, though there was no real warmth to the words. "Nice to see you again." It was clear she didn't mean it, but Jesse didn't dare call her on the lie.

"Ms. Corcoran," Martin said warmly, "come in! Didn't expect to see you here. Did you come to see Jesse's debut?"

"Partially," Shelby said coolly.

Jesse didn't know whether to be amused or irritated that Shelby had butted into a very private family discussion, and since he wasn't sure, he let her continue. He was perfectly capable of dealing with his parents on his own, but he didn't want to suddenly start arguing with his old coach when it looked like she might be planning to do the same thing he was—protect Rachel.

"This is the hot ticket in town, we hear," Hannah added, clearly quite blissfully unaware that the woman standing in the doorway to Jesse's dressing room—the woman she had entrusted her son's talent to for four long years—was actually the mother of the girl she had just been disparaging. "What did you think of the performance, Shelby? I'd love to hear your professional opinion."

"Of course, our own little musings aren't nearly as learned," Martin said with a chuckle, not giving Shelby a chance to respond, "but we thought Jesse did quite well. Though we _are_ slightly biased, aren't we, dear?" He smiled at his wife, which only made Jesse grimace in distaste. "That little girl up there with him had quite the voice—Jesse here tells us she's only seventeen. Makes me wonder what sort of parents would let their underage daughter play a role like that." He leaned back against the wall, seemingly oblivious to the smiling photos of Jesse and Rachel that littered the tiny room. "Now, tell me. If that was your teenage daughter, you wouldn't let her parade around topless on stage, would you?"

Shelby shared an ironic glance with Jesse, but he remained silent. If his parents wanted to dig their own graves, that was their problem. While part of him still very much ached for their approval, he had long since ceased to feel any real affection for them. Certainly if they were in trouble he'd be there in an instant, because that was what one did in a family. But the way they insisted on talking about Rachel really made him see red, despite the fact that he'd been expecting it. If they were now going to piss off Shelby, one of the most mercurial people he'd ever known, he wasn't going to stop them.

"It would depend on the context, to be honest," Shelby said now, and Jesse could _hear_ the malice in her deceptively-pleasant tone. "Many people in the entertainment industry want to exploit women, particularly young ones, and they use the female body as a way to sell tickets. I don't get that sort of vibe from Mr. Mayer or his production; it's a very honest sort of scene, in my opinion, which makes all the difference. Rachel is a very astute individual, as well, with two very loving and protective fathers, and I trust that she made her decision of her own free will, fully aware of what it meant."

"You know the girl, then?" Hannah said with a flash of surprise. "Oh! Jesse did say they went to school together—is she another of your creations, Shelby?"

"In a manner of speaking," Shelby said, not bothering to hide her smile. "Rachel is my biological daughter."

Silence. Jesse honestly didn't think he'd ever seen his parents look quite so nonplussed before, and he had to admit that he was enjoying it immensely.

"Of course," Shelby said, her smile growing broader, "I didn't have a hand in raising her. All the credit for that goes to her fathers."

"She...you..." Hannah frowned. "How did you..."

"I was merely the surrogate," Shelby said. "After she was born, I didn't see her again until she was a sophomore in high school. I didn't stop thinking about her, though. As parents, of course you understand."

Jesse was willing to bet that they didn't, in fact, understand. He didn't know, but he doubted they thought of him very much at all, and his siblings even less.

"I'm going to go try to talk to Rachel," Shelby said, and she touched Jesse on the shoulder. "It was a wonderful performance, Jesse. I always knew that, out of all my students, you would be the one to do me proud." Her smile was genuine as she looked at him, and Jesse felt something inside him tug tenderly. Shelby had been his mentor for years, and though they had not parted on particularly good terms, that didn't negate the fact that she'd literally been the most important person in his life for a long time. He offered her a smile in return—a little unsure, but genuine.

When Shelby had gone, Martin took a breath. "Well, _that_ was humiliating," he grumbled. "You might have warned us."

"They look a lot alike," Jesse said, making up an excuse since he certainly wasn't going to offer the truth: that he'd enjoyed watching his parents squirm. "I assumed you would have guessed."

"Regardless of whose child she is," Hannah said, pushing the entire encounter with Shelby aside as if it had never happened, "the reality hasn't changed. She's not St. James material, son."

"Neither are Jenny and Justin," Jesse said with a shrug. "Even I'm on shaky ground."

"You wouldn't be if you found a better girl to date."

"There _is_ no better girl," Jesse ground out tightly. Now that the pressure of opening night was gone and he was thinking better, one thing was abundantly clear: his parents did not run his life. If they decided that they wanted to be part of his life on _his_ terms that was fine, but he wasn't going to twist and shape and mold things to fit into their neat little idea of what he—and his love—needed to be. With a slow, unpleasant smirk dawning over his face, he looked up at his parents. "I want Rachel. What's more, I love her."

"You're nineteen. Didn't you just tell us you were nineteen? You don't know what love is."

"Age has nothing to do with it. Rachel is mine, and I'm not giving her up. I'm sorry you don't like it, but that's the way it is. Yes, she's Jewish, and yes, she's a few years younger than me. She was raised by two gay men in a normal middle-class house without hired help, and her best friend in the world is a little gay boy who looks like a twelve-year-old milkmaid. But that's only part of what she is. She's also frighteningly intelligent, and she has a wicked sense of humor. She has lingering self-esteem issues from being bullied in high school, but we're working through them. I've promised her that it will never happen again, and I'm going to be around to keep that promise. She's so talented that she brings me to tears when she sings, and she's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my life."

"She's cute, certainly, but that's hardly a reason to ruin your life at nineteen, Jesse!" His father stood, color flooding his jowly face.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, but my mind is made up." Jesse stared at them dispassionately. After everything that had happened tonight, he just wanted this to end so he could get back to Rachel. She made him feel better—made all of the questions go away. With her, things were easy. She didn't expect anything from him that he wasn't prepared to give, didn't want him to be something he wasn't and could never be.

"Son, I know it seems like nothing matters now, but think about later—think about your future children! What about them?"

"What about them?" Jesse said with a shrug. "I'm not even sure either Rachel or I want any, frankly, and if we decide we do, what of it? We'd make horrendously beautiful, talented kids if we chose to."

"But how will they be _raised_, Jesse?" his mother broke in.

"Jewish, if that's what Rachel wants. I see no reason not to. I'm sure she'd excel at motherhood just as she does at everything else." He crossed his arms and offered his parents a droll smile. "We celebrated Hanukkah together this past season. Or didn't you know that?"

"Jesse, that's hardly—"

He held up his hand. "No. You're going to listen to me for once. You may not like what I do, but I'm fucking good at it, and I'm not going to stop just because you'd rather I turned into a ruthless executive of some big company. Same goes for Rachel. She's perfect—any bastard would be lucky to have her, but she's mine and I'm not letting her go. She might not be exactly what you wanted in a daughter-in-law, but it's not your choice; it's mine."

"Jesse, this will not stand," Martin said dangerously.

"But it will," Jesse snapped, "because you need me. I may not be the golden child to you anymore, but I'm a damn sight better than my siblings. Face it—you're going to have to accept this, or admit to all those important friends whose opinions you care about that you failed with all three of your children. Is that really what you want?"

Their silence said what they refused to admit in words.

"I thought so. Now, please. I have to change and get to the afterparty—there will be press there, and I need to put in an appearance. I'm sure you have somewhere impressive to be."

The dismissal was curt, and Jesse knew he hadn't heard the last of this. But he honestly didn't care. As he shut the door and locked it behind his parents, he breathed a deep sigh. Fighting was never fun, especially with people he knew he was supposed to love—to feel more for than he actually did. Gritting his teeth, he stripped off his costume and let it drop in a crumpled heap. Jamming his legs into his boxers and then a pair of expensive black jeans, he felt like he couldn't find his clothes fast enough. All he wanted was to get to Rachel. Her sweet dark eyes, soft and shining, could cure anything; he was positive. As he slipped on a light blue shirt that matched his pale eyes, he heard the squeak of his door.

The angry rant for his parents to just leave him alone already died on his lips when a lithe little dark-haired figure entered his vision.

"Rachel," he whispered.

In an instant she was in his arms, scooped up and held tightly against him. She squeezed him back, and that was all the reassurance he needed—she was here with him, and everything was okay again.

"I didn't want to leave you to face the wolves alone," she whispered, her hands unerringly finding his hair and stroking just the way he liked. It was perfect; just what he needed.

"You didn't want to be here for that conversation," Jesse said, "trust me."

"They don't like me." Her voice was dejected, but she didn't let go and that was the important part in this moment, Jesse felt. He needed the surety of her touch right now.

"They don't know you," he corrected gently. "It's okay. I took care of it."

"Jesse, I didn't even think to tell you before, but—"

"I already know Shelby's here," he said, burying his face in her soft hair. Normally when she had it perfectly coiffed she scolded him for messing with it, but today she said nothing. Maybe she could feel how badly he needed this, just as he could feel her emotions oftentimes. Just as he knew what she was going to say without hearing her finish the sentence. "She walked in on the middle of our discussion." He paused. "How did you get in, anyway? I swear I locked the door so my parents couldn't change their minds and come back."

Rachel pulled away slightly—not enough to lose contact, but enough so he could see her. Her brilliant smile lit up her face, and she held up a spare key in her fingers. "I can be very persuasive when I want to be."

"No doubt." Jesse was positive his own smile matched hers. "God, Rach, you have no idea. No idea."

"I think I do." She touched the side of his face, stroking his cheek gently with her fingers. "It's okay. They're gone—for now, anyway—and everything else is fine."

"I am so, so sorry for everything they said," he murmured, pulling her close again. Now that she was here, back in his arms where she belonged, he didn't feel such a need to squeeze so tightly. Instead, he held her close without crushing her, reveling in the warmth of her body against his. She smelled like light, fruity body spray and warm skin, and he loved it. The only thing that made the combination any better was the addition of her arousal—so utterly inappropriate for this moment. Later, he told himself firmly. Joint pleasure was imminent now, after everything they'd experienced together today. He honestly couldn't say just why he'd chosen to touch her like that during intermission, but he hadn't been able to help himself, and she hadn't said no. Far from it, in fact. And then her innocent-seeming request to _watch_ him...that had been entirely unexpected. Maybe she wasn't quite ready for sex yet, but they were getting there. And it would be delicious when it happened; he had no doubt. Just the memory of slipping his hand up under her dress and finding her wet and willing and waiting for him...it was making him hard again, and that wasn't a good idea right now.

"You're mine," he said softly, "and I'm not giving you up. Not for them. Not for anything."

"Do they want you to?" Rachel asked, and her voice was so small and hesitant that it broke his heart.

"It doesn't matter what they want," he said quietly. "I'm the one in this relationship. It's my life, not theirs."

"But, Jesse, they're your parents."

"And you're my life." Jesse squeezed her again. "I don't need their approval, sweetheart. All I need is you."

"Don't go getting too cheesy on me," she teased, smiling up at him. He couldn't help it—he leaned down and kissed her firmly, loving the feel of her soft mouth as it opened for him, her willingness to give him exactly the reassurance he needed. She was his, and she was always going to _be_ his. He'd fought a long battle for her, setting everything up perfectly to lead them right to this moment. Meeting Michael and being offered the role of Melchior was only the first bit of luck; after that, it was all a carefully crafted strategy to bring Rachel back into his arms. She couldn't resist the call of Broadway—nor should she, not with her talent. And yes, he'd known that he would have to be patient and crafty, playing the part of the dutiful friend, stepping in more and more to be what she most needed as Hudson grew farther and farther from her thoughts.

Though, Jesse had to admit, the lanky jock had sort of dug his own grave. Rachel's success on Broadway was assured one way or another; Jesse had hastened it by talking Michael into giving her an audition, but he had by no means changed an inevitable outcome. And Hudson would have been miserable if he'd decided to follow Rachel to New York even temporarily. That was more than clear. Rachel belonged amid the bright lights and the fast pace of the city that never sleeps. Her high school boyfriend did not.

But all the waiting and all the worry was worth it, so very worth it, he thought now as he held her close, kissing her willing mouth and resolutely shoving all other thoughts aside. She was so beautiful, and so talented, and she had a heart big enough to forgive him his childish trespasses. Just as he'd forgiven her, and now they could move on together, as they were meant to.

"Rachel," he murmured against her lips, closing his to kiss the very corner of her mouth softly. "Rachel."

"I'm here," she promised, her hands finding his hair and stroking soothingly through it, just the way he liked best. She had long, talented fingers, and he couldn't wait to see what else she could do with them. "I'm right here, Jesse."

He exhaled a long breath into the curve of her throat, breathing in the smell of skin and body spray, loving the combination. His parents would never understand the incredible draw he felt to this girl, because it was impossible to put into words. No, she was no Quinn Fabray—a girl he felt sure his parents would jump at the chance to call a daughter-in-law. Quinn was pale as death, blond as a Barbie, and she had the cold ruthlessness necessary for a society wife. Rachel was none of those things—she was warm where Quinn was cold, both in coloring and in personality. There was a softness to her that the other girl lacked, a kind of gentle sweetness that Jesse knew had to come from the dedicated upbringing of her loving fathers. Oh, there was plenty of Shelby in her, too: a desperate desire for art, and the spotlight, and perfection. She certainly wasn't all sweetness and light, nor was she a tractable little kitten. But she was perfect in her own adorably bossy, talented, brash way, and they complemented each other so well. She didn't try to curb his perfectionist urges, instead helping him when he declared he needed _just one more_ run-through of this or that scene to really reach his own personal goal. She never complained, just as he didn't complain when she jumped on him at three in the morning, having snuck down the hall from her room because she had another nightmare about forgetting all her lines on stage. Instead, he'd wrap her up in his arms and blankets—his aunt snoring obliviously on the floor below—and they'd whisper their lines to each other in the darkness until one or both of them fell asleep again, surrounded by warm breath and hands, and the reassurance of the only other person who could possibly understand.

No, Jesse thought, kissing her again, relishing the moist softness of her mouth, the way her lips lingered against his every time they parted, as if loath to break such perfect contact. No, his parents couldn't possibly understand. They loved each other in their own way, he supposed, but they would never be able to fathom the way Rachel had absolutely stolen his heart. Knowing a little Jewish girl with two gay dads was an inappropriate choice, his father would have passed her by without a second glance. But Jesse wasn't his father, and Rachel grabbed his attention and held it without even trying, just by being the incredible person she was. When she laughed, that brilliant smile breaking like dawn over her expressive face, it was like the world began anew. When she cried—which, being a drama queen, she unfortunately did quite often—Jesse didn't know how to do anything but comfort her. The heartbreakingly _real_ way she lived, feeling everything so deeply and so fervently, was part of what made her a great actress. She had naturally thin skin, every part of her laid bare, and it was what had made high school such a trying time for her.

But it didn't matter now. She was out of that place, and she would never have to go back. After this year, she'd be done with tutoring and she wouldn't have to set foot in a classroom ever again unless she wanted to. If she did choose to pursue higher education somewhere down the line, he had no doubt it would be a performing arts school or conservatory, someplace where her talent would be appreciated and nurtured instead of hemmed in on all sides by petty jealousy.

And, most importantly in this moment, she was _his_. He'd won her, free and clear, and nobody except Rachel herself could take that away. If he treated her well, he might be lucky enough to keep her for the rest of their lives. That was his goal, anyway, his parents be damned. This was his life, and therefore he was pretty sure his happiness counted for more than theirs.

"How long before we can knock you up?" he asked against her hair, stroking his hands down her back to find the tempting curve of her hips.

"_What_?" Rachel pulled away, her eyebrows sky-high as she regarded him carefully. "Come again?"

"I want to have gorgeous little ankle-biters with you," Jesse said, trying to keep a straight face, but it was nearly impossible as he watched the emotions flit across her expressive features. Aghast...confused...skeptically wary...it was all quite amusing.

"I have no idea what your parents must have said to elicit _that_," Rachel said, quirking an eyebrow at him, "but ask me again after I've won a Tony. And do it with a little more finesse next time, huh? I know you have a better vocabulary than that."

He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. No, Rachel had no idea what his parents had said, and he definitely wasn't going to enlighten her. But he'd get a double-dose of satisfaction in raising a gorgeous little brown-eyed kid or two, especially if they happened to look just like Rachel. "You do know that might be next season, right? Since we missed the cut-off date for eligibility this season?"

"Nobody wins a Tony right out of the gate, Jesse," Rachel said, and one of her thumbs circled enticingly on the warm skin at the back of his neck. "I'd be elated to be nominated, though."

"What about a Drama Desk Award? Can we get you pregnant if you win a Drama Desk?"

"Nope—I'm not ruining this body for _anything_ less than a Tony," Rachel said with a teasing smirk.

"Can't blame a guy for trying." Jesse heaved a playful sigh before gathering her up in his arms, squeezing her tightly against him.

"You know," Rachel said, nuzzling his throat gently before slipping out of his grasp so he could pull on a jacket, "most guys your age would be flat-out running in the opposite direction from commitment like that."

"I thought we'd already established that I'm not most guys." He tugged the sport coat into place before offering his hand, which Rachel gladly accepted.

"Oh, we have," she said with a smile. "We have."

"Well, then there's no more to be said, except that I love you, and that's not going to change." He kissed the top of her head. "Ready for the party?"

* * *

><p>The afterparty was only a few blocks away, so they opted to walk. There were a few stubborn fans still waiting outside the stage door despite how long they'd taken inside, and Jesse's good mood—well on its way to being restored once Rachel was back in his arms—was completely fixed by the excitement of their well-wishers. They signed autographs and posed for pictures, and though he knew Rachel had to be nervous, she acted as if she'd been doing this her whole life. She ate up the attention without being the slightest bit snobby toward the gushing fans, and when they finally headed down the block her eyes were alight with excitement.<p>

"How does it feel to be a smashing success right out of the gate?" he asked, murmuring the words into her ear as they strolled slowly along what he knew would always be their favorite street in the world.

"I predict that this feeling is _never_ going to get old," Rachel said with a little giggle, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet as they waited for the light to change.

"I suspect that you're right."

They talked a little more as they headed for the club that had been rented out for the afterparty. Rachel confirmed that Shelby had stopped by to wish her well, but hadn't stayed long. She was still unsure about Shelby's intentions and motivations, which Jesse thought was probably fitting. While his former choir director had stuck up for her daughter unflinchingly in the face of his parents' disapproval, that didn't mean things between the two of them were miraculously fixed. But Rachel was strong, and he had faith that she could find a way to deal with the disappointments of the past, Shelby included. She said that her dads, Kurt, and Blaine would be at the afterparty, but Shelby had not been invited. Shelby did not often pay attention to things like that, but in this case Jesse rather suspected she'd take a hint and not press her luck. Not if she wanted to keep in her daughter's good graces.

Inside, the lights were low and the press of bodies in some places was thick. There was plenty of press around, and family and friends of the cast and crew, and some people who were clearly high-paying schmoozers who had shelled out quite a bit in order to rub elbows with working actors. Jesse wasn't interested in people like that, especially since his parents had been known to do the same from time to time. It was one thing to mingle with artists, but quite another to be one, apparently. He grimaced, but shoved all thoughts of Martin and Hannah firmly from his mind. They weren't important right now. This was _his_ night, his and Rachel's, and he was going to have a good time if it killed him.

Rachel was taking in the ambiance—the lights, music, and crowd—with big, wide eyes, and Jesse smiled as he watched her. "Never been to a club before?" he asked, murmuring the words directly into her ear. She shook her head slowly, but he'd known the answer already. Of course she hadn't. She was seventeen years old, and had lived most of her life in a small town where the bingo hall was the height of excitement. While they'd been in New York for months now, their schedules were so full that they rarely had time to go out, and she vastly preferred seeing shows both on and off Broadway to any other form of entertainment even when they had free time.

Jesse squeezed her hand, smiling reassuringly at her as they stepped down into the crowd. She followed a half-step behind him, and he could feel her sharp eyes on him, watching and learning how he ducked and wove through the press of people.

"Jesse! Rachel! There you are!"

Michael waved them over to an empty spot near the bar, and Jesse angled them toward it. He doubted their director had even seen Rachel's smaller form in the thick of the crowd, but had assumed that she would be with him. Her eyes were bright as they slipped into the sparser crowd near the bar, and Jesse helped her up onto a chrome bar stool with a black sparkly vinyl cushion. "You okay?" he asked, and she nodded confidently at him, though it didn't escape Jesse's notice that her hand remained locked with his.

"Here they are," Michael said, "the stars of the hour." He motioned forward two men wearing press passes. One was holding a camera with a giant lens—overkill, Jesse thought, for the kind of work he'd be doing tonight—and the other had a small audio recorder. "Well, two out of three. You look good, kid." Michael sent Rachel an encouraging wink, then melted away with a quick mutter about finding Jonathan.

"What are your thoughts on tonight's performance?" the reporter asked, settling next to them at the bar. "Tell us your perspective."

As Rachel talked, praising her director and the rest of the cast and crew, Jesse stood close beside her, watching her with half his attention and the crowd with the other. The bartender slid a lowball glass of something pink toward her, and Rachel took a sip without questioning it. At an afterparty that Michael was carefully monitoring she was probably safe, but Jesse made a mental note to talk to her about that before they went out to any other bars or clubs. She was far too trusting, and he didn't even want to imagine the kind of trouble she could wind up in if she wasn't careful.

The questions from the reporter eventually steered toward the hayloft scene, which Michael had warned them would be what most people wanted to talk about.

"Rachel is the perfect Wendla," Jesse said, taking a sip from his own drink—a Tom Collins, passed to him without a question of ID—and touching the back of her hand gently. "Sweet, yet conflicted. Trusting, wanting, curious—all of it put together. Working with someone who takes her work so seriously is a real pleasure, and I couldn't have asked for a better partner."

"Do either of you have significant others?" the reporter pressed. "What is that process like, having to tell them what it is you do all day when you're rehearsing that scene?"

"Well," Rachel said, and though the room was dim, Jesse could tell just by the sound of her voice that she was blushing, "I did have a long-distance boyfriend when I moved here to start work on the show. I ended up breaking up with him after he came to see a workshop, because he just couldn't handle the fact that I do this for a living."

"He doesn't like me," Jesse added helpfully, never one to pass up an opportunity to stick one to Finn, even though the other guy would never know. "That didn't help."

"I'd guess not," the reporter said with a chuckle. He looked to be in his mid-twenties—young enough to still be in touch with how it felt to be youthful and impulsive. "And you, Jesse? Anyone waiting at home for you tonight?"

"My aunt," Jesse said with a grin, sharing a glance with Rachel. Michael hadn't forbidden them from talking about their personal relationship—not that it would have done much good. Everyone in the cast knew better by now, so trying to hide it was pointless.

"An aunt, huh?" the reporter said. "Well, that's boring."

"What can I say?" Jesse smiled and rubbed his chin on the top of Rachel's head, slipping his arms around her and squeezing gently. "This one keeps me pretty busy."

"Oh, I see how it is," the man said with a knowing grin. "Plenty of fans of the show are going to be heartbroken, you know. Can we expect to hear wedding bells in the near future?"

"Let's get Rachel out of high school first," Jesse said, feeling and hearing her giggle at his answer. "Then we'll see. One thing at a time."

This led to the natural next questions about their respective ages and experience levels, Rachel admitting to the fact that she was only seventeen with a demure little nod.

"She's always been wildly mature for her age," Jesse said with a shrug when the reporter asked what it was like to date a younger girl. "It really doesn't make any difference to me."

"How does it feel to be on your own in New York, coming from a small-town milieu like you do?"

Rachel's smile was devastating—she'd been charming the reporter for the entire conversation, but after that grin he was completely hers. "I was _born_ for this," she said confidently, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a sassy little twist of her head.

The same thing happened again and again as they made the rounds, Michael and his assistant tossing members of the press their way. Jesse caught sight of Blaine and Kurt dancing now and then and he wished he and Rachel could join them, but they were technically still working. Rachel was positively in her element—she flirted lightly with the reporters, eating up not only the attention but the opportunity to talk about the show and her work to her heart's content. She didn't seem to mind answering the same questions over and over again, and Jesse let her dominate the interviews, taking a back seat and watching as she shone. Everyone was enchanted with her—and rightly so. She glittered, she glowed, and she cast a friendly warmth around her that drew people in and made them want to linger. When she laughed, people in the crowd turned their heads and smiled. When the photographers asked them to pose for a picture or two, personal phones came out as well to capture the moment. Jesse loved the way she cuddled into his arms for photos, nestling against him and letting him hold her close. Once he picked her up in his arms, whirling her around as she clung to his neck, giggling madly in his ear. Flashes from cameras and phones lit the dim room like fireworks, and Jesse knew their first opening night had been memorialized for the world to see. If he remembered, he'd try Googling their names tomorrow to see which of tonight's photos had been uploaded the most.

As the night lengthened and the crowd started to thin slightly, Jesse felt Rachel tug his arm. She whispered that she was going to find the restroom, pecking his cheek with a soft kiss.

"Should I go with you?" he asked, but she smiled and shook her head.

"I'm a big girl," she teased, "I can go on my own. And when I get back, I want to dance with you."

Jesse chuckled as he let her go—they were so well matched that it wasn't even funny. They'd done their due diligence as Michael's little stars, and now they were going to relax as just Jesse and Rachel, dancing and having fun on a night that was, in many respects, the first night of the rest of their lives.

* * *

><p>There was no line for the bathroom, which Rachel found a little strange—the party hadn't cleared out <em>that<em> much. She was on top of the world at the moment. While she vastly preferred the actual serious theatrical process, she had to admit that all this attention was definitely fun. Reporters wanted to talk to her and take her picture. They egged Jesse on, asking him to kiss her, or touch her just a little provocatively, where no one back home in Lima had been able to stand them together. This was such a different world; such a different atmosphere.

She'd consumed several of the sweet pink drinks the bartender kept handing her before thinking to ask what was in them. Jesse had smirked at her, informing her that it was mostly club soda, grenadine, and fruit juice, with just the tiniest bit of alcohol—not even half a shot per drink—to sharpen the taste. "It's just a little kitten drink," he'd said, "like those baby heels you're wearing."

She'd made a face at him, but even though she wanted to be seen as more than just the baby of the group, she had to agree that the diluted drinks were probably a good idea. She felt flushed and loose enough already—high on the excitement of the evening, just as Jesse had said.

Washing her hands in the bathroom sink, Rachel raised her eyes to her reflection and gave herself a smile. Her cheeks were pink, her skin even warmer than normal with the heat of the club and press of the bodies. Her eyes snapped and sparkled, and she hoped the night's photos could capture this look—the life, the excitement—so she could remember it always. Nothing, not even the unwelcome surprise of Jesse's parents, could ruin this night for her.

"You!"

Rachel's head snapped around as she exited the bathroom, frowning slightly as she searched for the owner of the angry male voice.

He was standing off to the side near a potted palm, and though the overcoat was gone she knew him immediately. "Mr. St. James?"

He had a glass in his hand, and she could smell the sour tang of alcohol as he stepped closer to her. Jesse's father had a blunt, jowly face—he looked a little like his daughter, maybe, though Jesse's pretty features had definitely come from his mother. Rachel stepped back hesitantly as he moved forward, not at all sure she liked the glint in his eye or the strong sour smell of his breath.

"Have you read the book _Lolita_?"

Rachel remained still. She'd heard of it, though Nabokov wasn't on her list of favorite authors. Nor was that particular book considered appropriate high school reading material.

"It's about a little girl—a bratty, perverted little girl who seduces an older man and ruins his _life_."

"I don't understand," Rachel whispered. "Jesse's waiting for me, and—"

"Let him wait," his father snapped. "Listen to me, little girl. You're no better than that baby slut in the book. Look at you—high and mighty, pretending to be seventeen, all sweet and barely legal. Fuck that; I know better. My _wife_ knew better the moment she looked at you. Those giant baby-doll eyes and tiny little tits—you can't be more than thirteen or fourteen at _most_."

Tears, both astounded and furious, pricked Rachel's eyes suddenly. No one—_no one—_had ever said a word like that to her before. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable despite the fact that plenty of other girls at this party were dressed much more scandalously than she was.

"In an outfit like that," Martin St. James rambled, "flaunting what you don't even have."

"Stop it," she whispered, trying to step back again. Where was Jesse? He hadn't left her side all night. Now, when she needed him, he was nowhere to be found. Why hadn't she agreed to let him wait outside the bathroom like he offered?

Because, her mind told her, she'd felt perfectly safe at a party full of friends and co-workers. Never had she dreamed that this would happen.

"You will not turn my son into a pedophilic pervert!" Jesse's father snapped. "Do you hear me? No doubt it's how those filthy men trained you. Everyone knows gay men are predators. I'll bet you learned all kinds of tricks young, didn't you, little girl? How old were you when you learned to suck cock, huh? Six? Seven?"

"Shut up!"

"And that mother of yours—she's not a mother, she's a pimp. That's all. How much did she ask for you? Huh? How much did she sell you for?"

"I—I don't know," Rachel whispered. Truthfully, she _didn't_ know how much her dads had paid Shelby. But surrogacy was a beautiful gift; it wasn't like _that_, no matter what Mr. St. James said.

"Now, you listen here, little girl. If you want to strut around topless, fucking older boys in front of all of New York, that's none of my business. But you leave my son out of it! Hell, for all I know, those sick bastards you call fathers probably had this planned from the beginning—find some stupid sap to foist you off on when they didn't want you anymore. Well, it won't be Jesse; not my boy. He's better than this—better than _you_."

"He loves me," Rachel whimpered through the tightness in her chest. Her initial fury at Mr. St. James' gall had quickly drowned in a sea of uncertainty and utter disbelief at the filth that spilled out of the elegant man's mouth. He was immaculately dressed in expensive, fine-tailored clothes, but inside he was unrelentingly ugly.

"He's nineteen. Nineteen-year-olds will say anything to get a piece of ass. That's all love is, you know. It's a word men use to get their dicks buried in something hot and wet—nothing more. The sooner you learn that, the better. Jesse isn't any different than other boys in that respect, nor should he be. He'll tire of you soon enough; they always do. A girl like you isn't meant to bear the St. James name, or St. James children. So I repeat—keep your filthy hands _off my son._"

"That's _enough_."

Rachel whirled, relief mixed with surprise as she saw her taller father, Leroy, stride quickly to her side. He held out his arm stiffly, Rachel gladly slipping into the comforting embrace she'd known since she was a baby as he stared resolutely at Jesse's father.

"I don't care how much money you have," he said, each word dropping slowly into the space between them, "or how many friends in Congress, or how many houses all over the globe. This is my _daughter_, and you can't talk to her like that."

"Daddy," Rachel whispered into the lapel of his jacket. The tears were falling in earnest now, and she sniffed lightly as she pressed closer to him. "Daddy, _please_." If he hadn't heard the horrible things Mr. St. James had accused him and Hiram of, she didn't want him to find out. It was too terrible, and she didn't want either of her fathers to have to hear it—or to potentially go to jail for murdering Jesse's dad.

"_Daddy please_," Martin St. James mocked. "Do you call Jesse that, too? Have a daddy fetish, dirty girl? Lolita did."

Rachel clutched at her father, her immediate reaction only to keep him from responding physically to the taunt. Her father tensed against her, ready to move, but before he could, a sharp grunting sound made her turn in his arms. Two bouncers had grabbed Jesse's dad by his arms and were pulling him firmly toward the exit while he spluttered loudly about disgraceful treatment. Rachel had never seen anyone thrown out of a bar before, and she could do nothing but watch with wide, wet eyes.

"I thought you might appreciate some help taking out the trash."

Both father and daughter turned to see Michael standing off to the side. He flashed a small smile before stepping forward. "One of life's injustices," he said, touching Rachel's wet cheek gently and sharing a long look with Leroy. "You don't get to choose your own relatives. Let's find Jesse for you, shall we?"

"Please," Rachel whispered. She was more than grateful to her father and Michael for stepping in, but she needed Jesse. His father's words were like poison, seeping below the skin and festering slowly, and she needed the antidote. She followed Michael almost blindly, sight blurred by tears, moving swiftly through the crowd, panic ratcheting higher and higher the longer it took to locate Jesse. Where was he? Had his father dragged him off? Or had his parents decided to divide and conquer, Martin providing a distraction while Hannah whispered devious words in her son's ear and stole him away? Or was his father telling the truth, after all, and Jesse had left of his own free will?

No, she told herself resolutely. That last one couldn't possibly be true. Jesse loved her. He told her so and, more than that, he showed her. Every word he uttered, every action he took told her in no uncertain terms that he loved her. Whether his father truly believed the filth he'd spat at her or was just trying to make her afraid, it didn't matter. Jesse was hers, his parents be damned.

But her inner monologue didn't stop her, when they finally found him, from slamming full-tilt into his arms.

Her arms went around his neck, her legs around his waist—thank god for dim lighting and black underwear—and she inhaled deeply, breathing him in, willing herself to stop shaking and relax. Jesse had her. Everything would be fine now.

He held her tightly, questioning neither her sudden attack nor her tears, and walked them to a booth in a dark corner where they could sit quietly, out of the crowd. Leroy followed and Hiram joined them, though Rachel didn't notice. Her head was buried in the curve of Jesse's neck, and she didn't think she was moving anytime soon.

"Whatever it is," he said softly, rubbing his hands down her back, caressing her bare shoulders, "it's okay. I've got you now. It's fine."

She pressed closer as he worked them into the back corner of the booth, deeper into the shadows. Her back was to the crowd, and she shuddered lightly as Jesse's hands covered the bare skin above her shoulder blades, warm and gentle, just like he always was. "Tell me it's not true," she murmured, feeling the fat tears spill down her cheeks. "Please, just tell me it isn't true."

"If you don't want it to be true, then it isn't." He turned his head and kissed her temple softly. "I'd feel a little more comfortable committing if I knew the particulars, though."

"Your dad," Rachel whispered, clutching him tightly. "What he said—tell me it's not true."

Jesse's brow furrowed, and he chanced a glance up at Rachel's worried fathers. "Who told you what he said?" he demanded.

"Just now," Leroy said, and the barely-restrained anger in his voice told Jesse that he'd heard at least part of it. "I caught him berating her near the bathrooms."

"He's _here_?" Jesse's eyes flashed and he made to move before remembering the girl in his arms. The warm little ball of her body prevented him from rising and he settled back, tightening his grip on her. "I'm so, so sorry, Rachel," he murmured. "I told them to leave us alone at the theater, I promise."

Rachel nodded into his shoulder, and Jesse breathed a sigh of relief. At least she trusted him, and hopefully she knew that he'd never do anything to deliberately cause her pain. Never again.

"Where is he?" he asked in a low voice. This time his parents weren't getting away with it. This time, he was going to let them know exactly what he thought in no uncertain terms.

"I helped him find the door," Michael said blandly. "Family feuds have no business at my party."

"Yes, well, much as I appreciate the gesture, now he could be anywhere," Jesse said, hearing the impatience in his own voice.

"Let him go, kid," Michael said, pacing forward a single step. Rachel was still wrapped around Jesse, her head buried firmly in the crook of his neck as she cried, and Michael set his hand on her trembling shoulder. "Causing a scene here and now isn't the way to get revenge. Your old man's upset because he has a fine young man where he wants a puppet. Let him throw his temper tantrum. It won't change the end result."

Jesse shared a long look with his director, both men measuring each other with their eyes, as they'd done several times before in a silent battle of will. Michael wasn't cowed by Jesse's ferocity, and there was a quiet certainty to him that belied his usual manic exterior. He stood still under the onslaught of that piercing blue gaze, and Jesse had to admit that the man was right. Stooping to Martin St. James' level and hurling insults wasn't going to change anything, or prove anything. Actions were what made the man.

And Jesse knew exactly the action he wanted to take.

It had been a foregone conclusion—the purchase, the permission, the question—but he hadn't expected the moment to be thrust upon him so suddenly. Still, as he felt Rachel shudder in his arms, slow tears wetting the crisp collar of his shirt, he knew. He was young and she was younger, but there would never be a more perfect moment for the two of them. Opening night. Their _first_ opening night. The beginning of the rest of their lives.

"Rachel," he said softly, breaking eye contact with his director and slowly slipping his hand into the pocket of his jeans. He carried it around with him not because he'd planned to do this anytime soon, but because it was a comforting little object, like a talisman, that reminded him of her. "Rachel, sweetheart, will you pay attention for a minute?"

It wasn't in a little velvet box—the bulge in his pocket would have been impossible to hide. Instead, he pulled her right arm away from his neck, holding her hand between their bodies, and slipped the ring into her grasp.

Their conversation about a decoy ring had echoed in his head when he went to Cartier, and it had taken nearly two hours to pick something he was absolutely sure of. The diamond was big but not overwhelmingly ostentatious, and while there were little diamond chips set in the delicate gold band, they added just a hint of sparkle without being gaudy. Jesse had insisted on warm yellow gold to compliment her skin tone, despite the fact that white gold and platinum were the current popular metals. He'd refused the advice of the Cartier salesman to follow the trend, knowing exactly what would look best against that flawless cafe au lait skin.

Now he raised his eyes to her fathers, who had not seen what he'd done, and watched them carefully for a moment. Rachel was seventeen. They couldn't legally do this without her parents' consent, and even if it were possible, Jesse balked at the idea. He wasn't an old-fashioned sort of guy, but he felt that this was something he had to do right. If his future kids were only going to have one set of loving grandparents, he wasn't going to do anything to strain that relationship.

"Let me marry her," he said quietly, his voice soft but firm.

This—this was their perfect moment. Michael was right that his actions now would prove whether he was a man like his father or something far better. Jesse hoped for the latter. This was an action that would show his parents how serious he was in no uncertain terms. They didn't think Rachel was St. James material? Well, that was too bad. Jesse was over eighteen and they couldn't tell him what to do anymore. They could throw a tantrum and try to take away his money, but one of his trust funds had come due when he turned eighteen and the other was safely in the hands of a lawyer until he turned twenty-five; he couldn't touch it, but neither could his parents. He was making his own money working, too. They couldn't do anything to him.

Leroy did not look best pleased, but Hiram rolled his eyes and looked at his daughter, who was sitting quietly in Jesse's lap, turning the ring over in her fingers. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, and another slipped slowly from her eye as she stared at the piece of jewelry. "You just gave her a ring," her father said dryly. "We'd be heartless bastards if we said she couldn't keep it."

"You're supposed to do that the other way around, you know," Michael added helpfully.

A slow smile broke, wide and clear, over Jesse's face. Maybe her dads weren't completely ecstatic—not that he'd expected them to dance for joy at the thought of giving up their only daughter—but they weren't saying no. Hiram even looked a little like he understood.

"Rachel," Jesse said softly. He captured her wrist loosely, stilling her movements, and rubbed his thumb slowly against the tender skin. "I love you. I've loved you since you were a sophomore in a little black dress, with the strength of character to capture an entire audience by yourself and hold them captive with nothing but your voice. I've fucked up, yes, and so have you. But we found our way back to each other, and nobody can take that away from us. Not my parents—nobody. And I understand that your career means everything to you. I don't want to take that away from you; I just want to be there alongside you for each new adventure. I want to be the one you poke awake at night when you're worried about forgetting your lines. I want to have a secret code with you, so that when one of us gets up at an awards show, we both know that a tug on the ear or a brush of the hair means _I love you_."

"Maybe a little overdramatic, kid," Michael murmured, but he was trying to hide a smile and failing.

"We're dramatic people," Jesse said with a shrug, never taking his eyes from Rachel's. Hers, so big and soft, were still brimming with tears, and he could see the shock that was etched across her face. She hadn't been expecting this—well, he hadn't, either. Just because it wasn't planned didn't mean it wasn't perfect. "We do everything big and loud and larger than life. If you tell me no now, I'll just do it on stage the next time I propose."

"Not at _my_ show," Michael muttered.

"Hush!" Leroy snapped. "This is maybe the only time my girl's getting a proposal, and I want to hear it!"

"Where's a reporter when you need one?" Hiram added.

Jesse saw Rachel's mouth twitch; she saw the humor in the situation as much as he did. Very little of their lives would ever be private, apparently including his proposal. Well, that was the curse of living so brightly and so publicly. At least this moment was only being observed by the three men Jesse knew Rachel cared about above all others.

"I'll keep my parents away," he promised. "I'll do whatever it takes to make you feel comfortable. If you don't want my last name, you don't have to take it. Hell—I'll become a Berry if it makes you happy."

At that, Rachel giggled. It was a wet sound, laughter through tears, but her glittering smile was very real. "Jesse Berry sounds absolutely ridiculous," she said, slipping her right hand around him, holding the ring carefully in the palm of her left. "I won't let you do that."

"We'll get married under a _chuppah_," Jesse murmured, dropping his voice so only she could hear it. She wouldn't hold it against him, but he didn't want her dads hearing if he screwed up the pronunciation. "We'll stomp on a glass, though I really have no idea why, and Kurt and Blaine can cry like little girls when I kiss you in front of everyone. We'll get our own place, and do the show, and everything will be perfect, sweetheart."

Rachel held the ring between them, sparkling faintly in the dim lighting. She offered it to Jesse in her cupped palm, her other hand holding his shoulder tightly. "Do it right," she whispered, and he felt his whole world tangibly snap into place, as if everything had been waiting for just this moment to coalesce into perfection. The soft weight of her in his lap. The faint taste of tears on his tongue, from kissing her cheek. Fatigue from the show, the race of endorphins through his bloodstream...

He took the ring, and Rachel turned her hand over. It was shaking slightly, but her eyes were steady and bright as he slipped it onto her finger—the finger he'd measured while she slept, to ensure a perfect fit.

"I love you, Jesse," she whispered, an instant before he kissed her.

"_Mazel Tov_," Michael said, smiling with genuine amusement at the Berry men.

"Don't rub it in." Leroy sounded vaguely disgruntled, though the hint of a smile played around the edges of his mouth. "To me, part of her will always be a little kid spilling cereal all over."

"Who's spilling cereal all over?" Kurt asked, pulling Blaine behind him by the wrist as he strode up to the little group in the corner. "What'd we miss?"

* * *

><p><em>AN: So, I was planning to get through the whole night before ending this little story...are we up for one more chapter?_


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